A Holy War
by MightyMiget
Summary: Smell that? That's the smell of war. Fate/Zero and SBR AU mass Xover
1. Baseball and Apple Pie

One of the nine. The Heart.

That's how it had begun. In the American desert. He and his comrades, fellow soldiers of the Civil War, marching into to the sun. Into the furnace of Perdition. A licking, greedy Purgatory. The sun beating everything into rust and stardust. Hadn't the horses crumbled away as the winds screeched? Dried into jerky. Blood turned into iron red powder. Bones cracked as the pungent marrow inside bubbled into evil vapors.

It should have ended then; but it hadn't. He should have fallen like the rest of his comrades, but he hadn't. The Heart. It had given him the power to live on through the hungry nights and thirsty days where he had no more sweat to sweat and no more tears to cry. ' _If there's a Heart, there should be a Head. And if there's a Head, there should be a Spine…'_

The Heart had chosen him _._ And he had chosen America.

' _Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims pride…'_

What was it that his stepfather had told him?

" _A man was captured by the enemy and tortured. Savagely tortured. Pain was inflicted on him again and again. And every day they would ask him:_ 'How many men are in your company? Where are your snipers located? How are they armed?' _Every day they would ask him, and every day he would stay silent."_ The speaker, a Captain Valentine, produced a rust stained handkerchief from his pocket.

" _Now this handkerchief that I hold, it is not mine. It belongs… belonged to my dear friend, the man I spoke of earlier, the prisoner of war."_ Captain Valentine smiled, thinking of fond memories and times gone by. " _He had a strange habit of writing the date on everything he owned. If he bought a pair of boots, or a new shirt, he would write the date on whatever he had bought. We all used to tease him for it."_

" _The man, after being tortured for so long, felt his resolve begin to waver. And so, when he felt himself weakening, he decided to protect this handkerchief; for the date embroidered, the 20th of September, 1847 was an important day to his family. To the man, protecting this handkerchief was the same as protecting his family which he connected to protecting the country as a whole. With his mind set out to protect the handkerchief, the man was able to endure any torture or pain of being a prisoner of war."_

" _But he was a prisoner. He had been stripped naked, and all his possessions had been confiscated. If his captors found the handkerchief, they would surely take it from him. And surely, without the memory of his son, he would succumb to the torture… He had no where of hiding it in the prison, and to make sure he wouldn't attempt to hide away tools to escape, the jailers would check every part of his body. Inside the mouth, the nose, the anus… But he hid it all the same. Through his whole stay in the prison he was able to hide the handkerchief, and never said a word about our company's position or strategy. We, the rest of the platoon, survived only thanks to his strength and dedication."_

" _Where do you think he hid the handkerchief?"_

" _The world is an incredibly painful and cruel place. Funny… you are a seven years old, and soon enough you will be a man. I have a duty to my friend to tell you the story to the finish. Can you handle it?"_ Captain Valentine asked the boy and the boy nodded softly, scared of where the story was headed.

" _Where did he hide the handkerchief?"_

" _His eye had already been blinded by the torture."_ Funny vaguely heard his mother pleading for silence, but the Captain continued his story, he had a duty, after all. " _His eye had already been blinded, so he gouged out that eye himself and balled up this handkerchief,"_ Valentine held it for Funny to see, " _he kept the handkerchief inside the hollow of his eye socket the whole time. September 20th… that's your birthday isn't it?"_ His mother was crying now, and Funny began to understand.

" _That man was your father. And when we found his body after killing his captors, we buried him and I found this handkerchief."_

" _Patriotism is the love of country, and it manifested in your father, Funnier, because of his love for his family. He protected America because he wanted to protect_ you. _Even animals die for their children, but to die for one's country, and to think of one's country as an extension of the family… that is_ _ **Patriotism**_ **,** _the highest virtue of humanity."_

" _This handkerchief belongs to you. I'm proud to have been your father's friend…"_

And so, trudging through the pale yellow sands of the American West, no food or water to sustain him, no friends to ease the terrible burden of loneliness, Funny Valentine had chosen to protect his country. ' _I'm going to live,'_ he silently vowed, lips too dry and throat too cracked to utter any noise greater than a gurgle of pain, ' _I'm going to live, and with this Heart in my chest_ _ **I'm**_ _going to make the country that my father died for the greatest of them all.'_

Over a million bodies later, the Union won the Civil War.

Years later, after Valentine's battle scars had healed and he had graduated from Columbia College (now Columbia University) _summa cumme laude_ , he went on to become a Senator for the state of South Carolina. And as time passed, Valentine found himself as the 23rd President of the United States, poised to create a better more prosperous country, a country that his father would have been proud to see.

The people loved him. He after all, had a 91 percent approval rating and living conditions had steadily went up across the country. The economy grew at a staggering 10 percent a year, and people began to become wealthier, _America_ began to become wealthier. Even the South, the lower half of the country that had been devastated by war, had been rebuilt as the agricultural hub of the world. African-Americans had their rights affirmed and protected by laws that Valentine had proposed as a Senator, and had passed as President; and each and every day the former slaves grew to be every bit as valued and appreciated as the White Americans.

And all the while he had been searching for the Corpse. Foreign dignitaries and the pillars of American society, nay, international society would come and congratulate the President on his successful term in office, and Valentine would give thanks, but it was nearly always insincere, it stopped mattering. Even his wife, Scarlet, whom he had loved so dearly, seemed to grow unimportant and distant. The Heart was not enough. He _had_ to have the rest of the Corpse.

So when the Steel Ball Run had been suggested by Steven Steel, Valentine jumped at the opportunity and encouraged the event, diverting government resources to fund and plan the event, using his charisma and clout as the President to deflect the critics of the race. It was the perfect chance to scour the country for the Holy Corpse. The Eyes and Arms and Legs and Head… The Heart had chosen him after all, and what the Heart wants, the body does. He would have the Corpse and America would grow ever stronger.

Nine of the nine. Then came the end.

First had come Diego Brando and Hot Pants, the annoying duo of Lizardman and crossdresser. They had come quite close to defeating him, but _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap_ had killed them both. One crushed by a train, and the other pierced by a broken pane of glass.

Then came Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli, a cripple and an executioner from Naples. The duo had been on Valentine's mind for the bulk of the race, as they seemed intimately tied to the Corpse itself, present at nearly every sighting of a Corpse part, each of them had even possessed a Part of their own for a while, that had of course given them their Stands. With the Corpse completed and residing in Lucy Steel's body, victory should have been assured. But somehow, the pair had managed to get past _Love Train_ and with a strange techniques that Valentine did not quite understand.

He had been left to die in that deep pit of earth and the Corpse had been taken from him. Bringing in bodies from other dimensions hadn't done anything to solve the infinite loop of death and rebirth had Valentine had been subjected to, the wound seemed to follow his _D4C,_ the manifestation of his very soul. Then the final gunfight. Then death.

Valentine had lived for justice, for country, and for family. He died with heart and actions utterly unclouded, for they had been those of 'Justice'.

* * *

The huge sky above, bedazzled with stars. Stars, simple holes in existence where the love of God shines through… much of the sky was dark and empty that night. Night? Where is that _night?_ Valentine didn't know where he was. ' _Is this heaven or hell?'_ It certainly wasn't Earth, for the stars above were strangely intense and the familiar patterns of hunter and snake and dog and bear were replaced by fantastical musings of Valentine's imagination: a horse, Lucy Steel, a Corpse. Around him grew trees which stretched upwards like huge, monolithic fingers yearning for warmth. The ground at his back was cold.

" _You sit at the foot of the Throne, Valentine. You sit here because you have been called 'Hero' by your fellow man. You stare at the stars when your place is among them. Join them."_ The voice couldn't be described as man or woman or even human, although it spoke as one. " _Take your place on the Throne, Valentine. The time will come where you_ must _serve."_

"Who are you?" Valentine trembled, afraid for the first time in what seemed to be a trillion years, the instant that separated life and death where his soul had been transmuted from body into the ether seemed at least that long. "What is this ' _Throne'_ you speak of, and whom must I serve? I have only one master, and that is my _America_!"

The wind blew and Valentine took it to mean that the universe was sighing.

" _I am the Root of All Things,"_ the voice finally said, " _the Unmoved Mover. The East and West and North and South. Men pray to me and they worship me in many names in many tongues. I am your Corpse. I am the magic of the world."_

"What business would God have with a man such as I? It may be heresy to say, but country is a higher master than even you." Valentine spoke to the stars.

" _You have served me well Valentine, even though you may not have done so intentionally. You have given up more than I could have ever asked of you. The nobility of your_ _ **Patriotism**_ _and your unflinching, selfless toil for the betterment of your country has impressed me greatly. This is why you will continue to work, even through your death… The Holy Grail War, Valentine! Two hundred years past your death the world fights a hidden battle for not the Holy Corpse, but a Holy Grail. An artifact of such power that the holder will be granted any one wish. Seven pairs of Master and Servant battle for the Grail, and you will_ _ **fight**_ _."_

At the word of God, Valentine's mind was flooded with images of magic and a secret society, steeped with tradition. Magi. The Church. Fuyuki City. Akasha. Master. Servant. He would be a Servant, summoned by Masters to fight in this Holy Grail War, and upon victory, he would be granted a wish… He could have the Corpse if he wanted. He _would_ have the Corpse, and this time, the world would not stop him for the world no longer knew of the Corpse. It had been lost long ago and hidden.

" _Do you understand now, Valentine? I have selected you to be among the noblest of the men and women who have ever lived. Your peers in this war will be demigods and ancient rulers, legendary conquerors and artisans of immense skill and talent. They are figures of myth and history that will never truly die as their actions have immortalized them. Your Master will be a Magus, but you will choose whom you will serve. You may act for yourself, or you may act for your homeland, or you may even choose to act for your Master; but the choice will be yours. These are the conditions for your war…"_

Valentine woke up in an office room.

* * *

Tokiomi Tohsaka chewed his steak moodily. His Servant's first request had been an extravagant meal; and the man that had been summoned refused to speak until it had been delivered. Tokiomi had been affronted at the level of disrespect that he had been shown, but eventually gave into the request and had the cook woken to bring a meal for his new ally. Risei and Kirei were both tending to their own summoning… just as well. Tokiomi wasn't looking forward to having to reveal this travesty of a summoning to his allies.

"Archer."

The Magus looked up, briefly surprised. "You're the Archer class?" He stared at the the Servant. The man was quite tall and built like a classical sculpture. He wore a stylish pink overcoat, obviously expensive, that closed to the base of his sternum and trailed to his shins. His hair was a fair blonde, quite long, it reached his shoulders and ended in thick, singular rings. "Could you be more specific and reveal your True Name? It would be beneficial to know exactly who you are while for the duration of our partnership."

Archer fixed him with a long stare even as his gloved hands moved fork and knife to cut his dinner. Tokiomi stared back. Archer's eyes were a shade of ceramic blue that he hadn't ever seen on a human being before. The man seemed quite young, perhaps in his early twenties, and in the primacy of his life; not that age meant anything to a Servant, but every clue was important if Tokiomi was to deduce who the uncooperative Servant was.

He had used the moulted skin of the first snake in hopes of summoning Gilgamesh, the King of Uruk, but he knew the man across from him, eating a steak even though he had no need to, was not the King he was looking for. Surely, Archer was still some sort of famous leader; that imperious stare and regal bearing were unmistakable. Had he gotten King Arthur instead by some twist of fate? But that too was impossible. Arthur would be either Saber or Rider, not Archer.

"Ordinarily the first thing I would have done upon meeting you was introduce myself; but we are at war, and the last time I was at war, my identity was integral to my downfall. I'm sure you can relate to such an idea, especially during these Grail Wars?" Yes, the concept of identity was a major key to winning the battles of the Grail Wars. Know the True Name of the Servant and you would know their history, their fighting style, and would be able to guess at what their Noble Phantasms were. It was best to keep the True Name hidden, but…

"You're among allies here, Archer. I have extended you my home and food and we will be working together in order to win the Grail. Surely it would be amiss to stay strangers?" Tokiomi hated acting so subservient when _he_ was clearly the Master, but experience had taught him to be respectful when the occasion called for it. "My name, for example, is Tokiomi Tohsaka. I am participating in this War in order to attain Akasha, Enlightenment. I am an accomplished Magus, and am the head of the Tohsaka family, an ancient lineage of Magi spanning five generations. Tell me your name, I will make sure it will not fall on the wrong ears."

Fork and knife were gently set on a napkin and the man with golden hair took a moment to wet his throat with the tumbler of whiskey next to him.

"My name is Funny Valentine. I am the 23rd President of the United States of America. I do not know why I've been summoned as Archer, as I have little skill with bows… but I can assure you victory." His _D4C_ had been turned into a Noble Phantasm by the Grail, Valentine knew the power remained the same, enhanced even, by magic, but at the cost that non-Stand Users would be able to see the spirit.

"It doesn't fill me with any confidence when you say that you have little skill with the weapon of the class you have been summoned as. Have you skill with more mundane weapons? Firearms, perhaps?" Tokiomi, as a Magus, had little respect for the weapons of war used by non-Magi, but he supposed that in the hands of a Servant, anything could be deadly.

' _President? What sort of warrior could a President be?'_ A politician. Not some warrior king or conqueror, but a politician. Tokiomi had summoned someone _useless_.

Valentine took on a pensive expression thought for a moment before saying: "I was a soldier for a time, before I was President. I wasn't too bad of a shot, but I didn't accomplish anything extraordinary with a gun either."

' _What a failure, what a failure,'_ the Tohsaka family head shook his head in despair. How would he win with an incompetent Servant? If only the summoning had gone right, if only Gilgamesh had been—

" _ **Doyjaaan~"**_ Archer said. He had produced an American flag from wherever and was waving it around like a matador. " _ **Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,"**_ Valentine declared.

At his Servant's sudden words, the Magus raised his head and found there were _two_ Funny Valentine's in the room. Another swirl of the flag and there were three. Then four. Tokiomi began to smile.

* * *

A squirming mass of thick, tuber like creatures writhed underneath Kariya Matou's skin. Vaguely phallic in appearance, the magical insects gnawed through his bones and burrowed through skin and flesh only to heal him and injure him in continuous, cringing cycles… each bite of Blood Worm felt like a cigarette burn directly over a nerve. His teeth were clenched so violently that blood began to well from his gums. It hurt. Why Kariya had allowed his father, Zouken Matou, to put the damned creatures in his body was beyond him…

He then remembered Sakura, the young girl. The innocent girl. The daughter of the woman he loved, but not of his own flesh and blood… She had been sold to the Matou family to be groomed into the perfect heir, the role that Kariya _should_ have assumed all those years ago but hadn't. He had run from his responsibility back then, and now it rested on the thin shoulders of an abused girl.

As the pain began to abate, Kariya started to hear a heavy breathing through the ringing in his ears and the twitching of the Crest Worms. He pulled himself to his feet, wrenching his hands around a nearby table leg to help himself up. The room smelled of violence. His Servant smelled of violence. ' _Is this Berserker?'_ He asked himself, flinching a bit as the Crest Worms flared and settled down in continuous, maddeningly painful cycles.

A giant holding in one hand a huge knife, serrated and deadly, rusted and covered in gore. In the other was a spear that was not really a spear, rather just an ugly length of metal gleaming cruelly in the dim green light of the Matou family basement. The man was nearly two feet taller than Kariya himself and wore a dirty apron of sorts around his waist, messily sewn with gnarled fishing line stitches, it was an unknown type of animal skin that was more of a wrap than any real clothing. It did nothing to hide Berserker's bare chest studded with scars and burns and lean muscle. There was a distinct cloud of cold evil around the newly summoned Berserker that made Kariya shudder involuntarily. It was as if the world had become colder, as if it was drizzling and wind began to blow, chilling down to the bones.

' _But his face… why is it covered?'_ Kirei thought to himself. Berserker's head was a mass of rusted cast iron in the shape of a distorted pyramid. It seemed painful to wear, too heavy and unbalanced to have any purpose as a defensive measure, more likely that it was a punishment. Kariya imagined the inside as a mass of sharp wires and studs that dug in the wearer's head with every movement and felt sympathy for his Servant. Weren't the Crest Worms a type of punishment for shirking his duty and having Sakura fill the shoes he should have worn?

"You've done well for yourself, Kariya." An old man stood silently in a corner of the room, hidden by shadow and accompanied by a faint buzzing noise. "This Berserker seems powerful, might even be enough to win the Holy Grail War." But there was little sincerity in the wrinkled man's voice, almost as if he expected Kariya to lose despite having summoned Berserker, widely considered to be the most powerful class of the Grail War in terms of pure combat ability.

"You should have been my heir."

Kariya didn't reply. Instead he took a look at his Servant and reached his hand up to Berserker's shoulder, nudging at the Servant so that he would turn. "Berserker and I are going to win the war, and you'll have to find a new heir. Remember your promise, old man."

Zouken Matou cackled and raised a hand to shoo Kariya away. "You can bluster all you want, but Sakura will be mine 'til you bumble your way through the War and the Grail is in your hands. Leave this place, for you have discarded all right to call yourself a member of the Matou family when you left. I'll be sure that Sakura is safe…" He laughed again.

"Let's go _Pyramid Head,_ we have a War to win."

* * *

Kirei couldn't have known how similar he and Assassin were. But the Grail did. And breaking past convention and all the rules and restrictions the architects of the Holy Grail had put in place, they could not fully bring magic, the stitchings of the universe, to heel. The right Servant for the right Master.

It was a surprise. Kirei and Risei had both been expecting Hassan I-Sabbah to be summoned, as he had been in the past Grail Wars, but the Old Man of the Mountain was nowhere to be seen. No trace of his white skull mask or long, withered limbs as had been written in the records that the Church kept of the Grail Wars. No, Assassin was someone completely different. A French man who kept his face covered with a woolen balaclava and mouth filled with noxious, unfiltered Gitanes…

"I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke in here, Assassin." Risei Kotomine, the priest of Fuyuki City's only Catholic church and impartial mediator for this Fourth Holy Grail War, admonished the well dressed Assassin with a light word and the Servant politely acquiesced.

"Of course, Father," the man put the red ember of the cigarette between two gloved fingers and crushed the fire. The unsmoked cigarette was stored in a small metal case that Assassin produced from an inner pocket. "I had forgotten that this was a holy place. My apologies." The words sounded sincere, but Kirei immediately knew them to be false. Afterall, Kirei had lied many times before…

"My son, Kirei Kotomine, was your summoner. Your Master for the Holy Grail War. I hope that you two will cooperate well." The Master and Servant exchanged handshakes and nodded to each other. "Can you please introduce yourself? Identities must be hidden from the other combatants of course, but I am merely a mediator, and Kirei is your Master."

Assassin shook his wrist and pushed back the starched white cuff of his shirt and the sleeve of his red suit to look at a watch. "The only other name I know is _Spy._ In my past life, the work I did was quite… clandestine. My coworkers and I referred to each other by title. Our names were unimportant."

"Spy is as much a title as Assassin is, so if you prefer, I will call you such. I trust that your line of work is similar to what will be expected of you during this Grail War?" The priest asked.

"Sabotage, espionage, murder. I'm an old hat at this," Spy's eyes narrowed. "But aren't you supposed to be an _impartial_ mediator? I understand that my Master is your son, but corruption on that scale would put the War as a whole in jeopardy if other organizations found out, wouldn't it?"

Kirei interrupted before Spy could continue. His voice was awkward and overly loud. "The other competitors in the Holy Grail War, they are unworthy of the Grail. Should they win, their wishes may end up irrevocably damaging society. My father will support ourselves and another Master-Servant pair who we will be meeting later. Our wishes have been deemed safe."

Spy nodded in understanding and made a sound of thinking. "And of my wish? What would you do if my wish was dangerous? Or if the Servant of our soon to be ally wishes for something cataclysmal?" He pointed at Kirei's hand which was emblazoned by a cartoon bomb with the word RED written in cursive placed in center, the Command Spell. "Would you then use _that_ to put me in line?"

Kirei and Risei exchanged a heavy look and passed a moment in silence.

The old priest sighed and sounded apologetic."Yes, that is a reason why the Command Spell exists. But I would we would not need to resort to such heavy handed methods. What is it that you would wish for, if you won the War?"

It was Spy's turn to be silent now. Idly he took a knife from his pocket, a compact balisong, clean and well maintained. He played with it, rolling the blade over his fingers carelessly, professionally. He seemed deep in thought when he began to speak. "I've died many times, you know." Spy looked directly at Kirei now and he tugged on his tie, loosening it. The Servant's gaze was intense as if he knew of Kirei's innermost thoughts and insecurities. "Not in the way that Servants can be summoned again in a different War, but in a stranger, more sinister way." It seemed that Spy had forgotten about Risei's words about smoking in the church for he brought out the cigarette case again and began to suck on one of the cancer sticks.

"To make it brief, during my life, I was contracted to work for a company known as _Team Fortress Industries_. More specifically myself and eight other mercenaries, were hired under a subsidiary of said company called _R.E.D,_ or Reliable Excavation Demolition. We were tasked with stealing information from another branch of the company called _B.L.U,_ or Builders League United and to prevent B.L.U from doing the same to R.E.D."

Spy was lecturing now and his French accent made everything difficult to understand.

"The problem was that B.L.U was every bit as rich and as powerful as R.E.D, so of course they would hire their own mercenaries to compete. Somewhere down the line, my compatriots and I were cloned, or we were cloned from the B.L.U team. So the battle waged on day after day, neither side able to win because we had the same memories, personalities, experiences, weaponry, and goals. Every day we died in the most horrific ways in various stages and settings built by our employers to stage their war games. And every time, every single time we died we would come back to life thanks to a rather clever bit of technology that either our Engineer, or the B.L.U Engineer had built."

"You're talking about duplicating a human being down to the smallest detail and bringing people back to life… That's impossible. Even with the highest level of Magecraft those should be either impossible or extremely difficult. You're saying humans were able to accomplish such miracles with just science and technology?" Risei asked, his mind racing. Unlike most Magi he didn't isolate himself from the modern world and modern conveniences, but he had no idea such wonders were possible.

Spy nodded in grim confirmation. "I won't pretend to understand how it was done, not even the more scientifically minded members of R.E.D fully understood the technology, but it was real."

"And your wish?" Kirei interjected. It was getting earlier in the morning now and it was likely that Tohsaka and his Servant were awaiting their arrival.

A cigarette butt fell to the ground and Spy crushed it under his heel. "The most disconcerting thing about the whole fiasco was not knowing whether I was the original or the clone… I'm going to wish for only one Spy to have ever existed."

* * *

Valentine and his newfound ally, the self titled Spy, sat in the library, skimming over books and sipping at the expensive whiskey that Valentine had procured from Tokiomi's cellar. The two had been introduced to each other as partners for the duration of this war, and their Masters and the aged priest had gone into a private study to discuss strategy and such. Spy and Valentine were catching up on the history they had missed between their time of death and summoning.

"Seems that my work in life had at least _some_ benefit." Valentine closed a history textbook, one detailing the events of the World Wars and smiled. "I'm happy to see that all that toil didn't go to waste."

"And what would that work be, _Monsieur President?_ " The Frenchman asked. He blew a cloud of smoke and silently hoped that his host wouldn't mind. "I have to say I'm curious to how you simply disappeared at the end of the Steel Ball Run, were you assassinated?"

"That would be correct. The circumstances surrounding my death were also the reason my body was never found." Valentine still had a pleased smile on his face, even with the subject matter. "But despite that, it seemed America has bloomed into the most powerful country on Earth, even without my guidance. I toiled endlessly to make America the greatest country that it could be, and it seems that I have succeeded."

Spy offered a cigarette and Valentine accepted and the two smoked together, room growing more clouded by the moment. The rich smell of tobacco and smoke and tar made a nauseating combination that neither seemed to mind.

"How did you pass, Spy?"

"Fighting to bring down TF Industries, it was an American company, so I apologize, but there was good reason. They, rather, one twisted _dog_ of a woman heading the company, had been stockpiling a rather valuable mineral that could only be found in Australia. It made all those strange technologies that I told you of, possible. One shudders to think at what she would have done with it,"

"We're you successful?" Valentine put his cigarette out in an ashtray and began to pace the room. The question was obvious but there was need to fill the boredom of waiting for the Masters to come back and brief the on the plan.

"According to the books, TF Industries went bankrupt in 1987, triggering an international financial disaster that the world is still recovering from. And the Australium that had been stockpiled is lost forever now… I believe our plan back then was to shoot it into space. So yes, I was successful."

Valentine nodded slowly. "The world has changed since I was alive. I simply cannot believe that the country of Britain is _owned_ by one man, and an Australian, for that matter! Is this true?"

"Very true," Spy seemed unhappy at that. "I knew the man, Saxton Hale. An uncultured brute, but he was wealthy nonetheless. I believe his company went bankrupt shortly after TF Industries did. He died in the same conflict that I did."

"And he bought England!" Valentine laughed aloud. "Serves them right, damn monarchists…"

"Hear, hear."

Their glasses clinked as they toasted.

 **AN: Funny Valentine summoned as Archer. Pyramid Head summoned as Berserker. Spy summoned as Assassin.**

 **This universe combines the JJBA, TF2, and Fate universes. The events of Steel Ball Run took place in 1890, and the Corpse still exists. The events of the TF2 comics happened in the 1970's, twenty years before the Fourth Holy Grail War.**


	2. Breathe Deep

**AN: looking for a beta**

Valentine stooped over the leaking body. He had shot only once and that had been enough. A hand, an invisible hand, clasped him on the shoulder for a moment, but only a moment. The faint rustling of grass was heard as Spy, invisible to the world, walked off abandoning his corpse to continue his mission of gathering information on the rest of the participants in the War. All had gone according to plan.

The corpse was disturbingly accurate, and Valentine thought to himself of removing the balaclava to see Spy's true face, but decided against it. His ally deserved at least that much respect. Instead, Valentine took from his pocket a folded flag and spread it over the corpse like a great red, white, and blue funeral pall.

" **Dirty Deeds."** Valentine called upon his Stand turned Noble Phantasm and took the flag back up and folded it neatly. The body was gone.

" _Is it done, Archer? Can we proceed?"_ The voice of his Master sounded in his head. Tokiomi was back at the manor, but communication through the Master-Servant bond made such issues such as distance trivial.

" _Feel free. I think I'll take this moment to explore the city. Use a Command Spell if you need me."_ Valentine cut the conversation short and walked across the field onto a well trodden dirt path that meandered through a small forest. He was feeling pensive, wanting, needing to go over the events that had led to his final end. Through the trees and their black green leaves he could see the light of the city. It was an uncommon feeling for the former President, but the fact that the world had changed so much during his time spent dead made him feel small; even with the Grail supplying him with information on the modern world.

"The lights," he declared aloud, "we never had so many lights." The stars were barely visible. "Man has traded the brilliance of the night heavens for their own stars, here on earth. Infinitely closer and smaller and weaker." He wasn't sure if he liked it or not, lightbulbs had been around during Valentine's presidency, but they hadn't been so ubiquitous, nor had they been found in so many rainbows of colors.

" _Try not to reveal too much, Archer. It is still early on in the War."_ Tokiomi's voice called from a secret recess of the mind and Archer took note, sending back a feeling, not a sound or word, but a feeling of understanding. Valentine continued to walk through the forest and thought about visiting the oceanside despite the late hour. He had died near the Atlantic last time, buried in sand and forced to suffocate again and again until Joestar had shot him for the final, terrifying time. It was a strange desire to live out the end of his life, but one that he felt was necessary.

Looking back on it all, walking through the dark and lonely forest with only the hum of insects and the starkness of the sky to accompany him, Valentine felt regret. He had done so much wrong in the name of **patriotism**. During life, Archer had been certain, so certain that what he had done, everything he had done was the right thing. For the greater good. The Corpse had chosen him after all. God had given him blessing to wage a Holy War on the world… a Mandate of Heaven. Legitimacy not only from the will of the people, but from the creator of the world and all its inhabitants.

He had lost. Cruel lead had torn holes in his body. A common, vulgar death at the hands of a cripple… The country had loved him. God had loved him. But he had died all the same. Not this time. This time he would have the Grail. He would have the Corpse. And, for God and country, he would be victorious.

But before that, he would mourn himself. He would go to the ocean and mourn his own passing and think and learn from the mistakes of yesteryear. Then would come war.

* * *

War came with a crash of steel and spatter of blood. Saber ducked the blade and felt the wind whistle and brush her hair from its careful coif. The backstream of air that followed the slash knocked her from her crouch, sending the King of Knights tumbling backwards and flinging sand into the air. Berserker roared and the world seemed to quake. It was a low and guttural sound, beastial and unrestrained. He didn't sound human.

"Lancer! Now!" She yelled at her temporary ally as she lunged forward, invisible sword breaking through Berserker's flimsy guard. She scored a deep hit to the monster's stomach, cutting through the sickly yellow apron and into the beast's stomach causing blood to gush and the ill green and blue of intestine to show. Saber smiled with grim satisfaction and twitched her body to the side to get out of Berserker's range.

Lancer on the other side stabbed with Gae Buidhe directly through Berserker's spine, a lethal blow even without considering the curse of the Noble Phantasm. Was it over that quickly? Berserker had been physically stronger than both Lancer and Saber, but the lumbering, unthinking Servant had been quickly defeated. ' _Serves him right for interrupting our duel,'_ thought Lancer. He put a greaved foot to Berserker's broad back and braced himself, pulling the cursed spear slowly, slowly, until it stopped.

"Watch out!" Saber called out too late. She dashed forward again, hoping to injure Berserker's hand but the giant knife that the mad Servant held was swung haphazardly in her direction, each swing with such force that even her magical armour would crumple like foil. Berserker's other hand had latched itself to the spearhead. His grip was strong and stable even with the cursed blade cutting into the finger bones. The wound on Berserker's stomach went ignored even though every shift of the body caused his innards to slowly spill out. With a tremendous jerking motion, Berserker pulled Lancer's Noble Phantasm to the side, ripping through even more of his own flesh, crushing ribs and lungs and not even inconveniencing the Servant until it was clear of the body. The Pyramid Head, as Saber took to calling it, hadn't even flinched as it nearly ripped itself in half. Even with a destroyed spine it was capable of moving.

Berserker turned, and swung the huge knife so fast that it howled a song of gore and promises of hurt. Lancer barely made it in time, forced to drop his Noble Phantasm in favor of survival. The strike was messy and violent and when it came to close the arc of wind that it had carved split the sea for a good distance.

" _Regret?"_ For the first time Berserker spoke, or Saber thought that Berserker spoke, his face was hidden underneath the iron mask. The voice was high and happy and everything that Berserker was not. " _Do you regret something?"_

Lancer materialized his other spear, the magic eating Gae Daerg and charged Pyramid Head with a roar, intent on getting his other Noble Phantasm back. The monster didn't even attempt to dodge as Lancer closed the distance. The long spear carved through the pectoral at such an angle that heart must have been obliterated.

"He's dead." Lancer panted. "He must be dead. Even a Servant can't survive after that much damage."

The great hacking blade rose and fell again, but this time Lancer was able to pull both of his spears free from their fleshy tomb with a yelp of surprise.

Lancer and Saber both backpedaled and took defensive positions. Berserker seemed indifferent to the blood he was losing and he made a moaning noise that echoed through his rusted metal helmet and sent spine chilling noise down the spines of everyone on the beach.

" _Just watch for now, Lancer."_

"What sort of monster are you? How did you come to be summoned in this War? The Throne of Heroes isn't fit for a brute such as yourself." Arturia felt the beginning of worry in the back of her mind. At this rate she would be forced to used her Noble Phantasm… "Answer if you can!"

Pyramid Head turned to her and bobbed its head up and down as if it understood. It took one step, then another towards the King of Knights before _running_. It seemed as if the distance between knight and butcher hadn't existed at all, for Berserker just appeared in front of Arturia, sword pointed straight down in a stabbing motion. The knight spun to dodge and counterattacked, her riposte carving muscle from Berserker's brawny arms.

" _Saber! Use your Noble Phantasm! Get rid of that thing!"_ Her Master's voice rang in her mind and for once, she couldn't help but agree with the Magus. Magic surged through her body as she leapt back, dozens of meters to reveal Excalibur and took aim…

Pyramid Head was behind her before she could even start the call of her attack. A clumsy punch with all the force of a speeding train rocked her forward while she was in mid dodge, skipping like a stone over the dunes of sand before she finally came to a rest in knee deep seawater.

"Saber!" Irisviel gasped and took a step forward before being rejected by a wave of Saber's hand.

"Stay back, Iri. It's dangerous." Arturia stood with a wince. She was winded, and felt her spine shifting as she stood as proudly as she could. "It's faster than me…" she realized, "it's faster than I could ever have imagined…" Her left arm was damaged, likely the elbow had been shattered by the trainwreck blow. It would heal with time, but there was no way she would be able to fight with this sort of injury. Pain clouded her mind with every heartbeat, growing stronger and stronger. Excalibur was out of her reach for the moment, she would have to fight the old-fashioned way.

On the beach, Pyramid Head summited a low sand dune and dipped a brutal hand into its stomach wound, finally scooping the intestines in its hands to push back—

Saber had thought too quickly. Berserker took a firm hold of the greasy snakes that made up his organs and pulled instead of pushing them back in. He pulled and they unraveled, uncoiled like a spool of thread and in the back of her mind she heard Iri vomit and _the smell_. Berserker brought the long mass of gore to his encased head and smeared it all over the pyramid shaped helmet. Warpaint.

"What sort of brute are you…" She raised her sword again, one handed, and sloshed through the shallows, back to shore, ready to fight. She would never lose to a monster like this, _never._

* * *

Something behind Valentine landed, or rather, crashed heavily. The impact had broken the side mirrors of cars and had sent the late night denizens of the city scrambling in panic. There was only a booming laughter and the voice of a young man scolding, terrified.

"Calm down boy! No one was injured, and the damage seems minimal. Surely repairing these modern chariots is no huge expense?" The Servant, Valentine immediately recognized, a huge man with red hair wore a sturdy leather armor and a great, fur lined cloak.

Valentine fingered the pistol in his pocket. It wouldn't do anything but annoy a Servant, but it seemed that the Master was here as well…

"Rider! You don't— We don't even have any money to pay these people back! And what do you think they're going to think when they see a chariot fall out of the sky? You flew us off a building!" The shorter one was a black haired youth of perhaps 17 who sounded rather nasally.

"I can reimburse them when I conquer the world. As for your second concern, I don't see why a King must hide from his subjects. I must be visible so that I may set an example for my subjects." The giant seemed dismissive of his Master's concerns and turned to Valentine, the only person on the street who hadn't fled the disastrous arrival. "Ah! I see you must be a Servant then! I am Iskander of Macedonia, Rider class. A pleasure to meet you."

Valentine was surprised. The first Servant he had met other than Spy was a legend. Iskander, Alexander, Alexandros; the conqueror went by many names. Here was a man who had been embedded in all the cultures of the world as a unmatched general and warrior.

"Funny Valentine. 23rd President of the United States of America. For this War, I am of the Archer class." He gave a slight nod of the head in recognition and respect. Archer had decided not to care much for secrecy. None of the other Servants would be able to gain any knowledge of his abilities with from his identity anyways.

"Well met, President Valentine! I'll have you know I am very interested in the United States… specifically their armed forces." Rider gave an exuberant smile. "This boy here," the hulking Servant shoved his Master in front of himself, causing the boy to stumble and nearly fall, "this is the newest conscript to my army, Waver Velvet!" The boy turned to the Servant and said something that Valentine couldn't hear, likely about revealing identities so easily.

"What business do you have with me? If you're looking for a fight, I'm not interested at the moment. It's far too early in the War to be making enemies."

Rider laughed, a low rumbling sound like thunder at a distance. "No, nothing like that…" Rider looked genuinely happy, a stark contrast to the worried boy next to him. "The Holy Grail War is just the beginning of my ambition. I wish to collect loyal followers to join my army and help me conquer the world! Even you, Archer, thought we may be opposed for now, think of _after_ the War. I extend to you an open invitation to join me on my conquest. You seem a reasonable type, surely you understand what sort of opportunity this is?"

"Rider! You can't just go around—" Waver protested before a large hand swatted him lightly over the head.

"Hush, Waver. Let him respond. There's no need for fighting when diplomacy can get the job done." Rider's expression was serious enough to make the boy flinch and retreat behind the chariot. Iskander turned to Valentine and asked once more.

To join and become an underling was out of the question, even if it was Iskander the Great who would be commanding him; Valentine's pride wouldn't allow that. For the Former President of the United States to work under a foreigner… that would be a great shame. But allying with Rider would be a great help to Valentine's plans. It could help him win the Holy Grail War and would expand his resources for after…

"Rider," Valentine began with a clear tone, addressing the redhead as an equal. "For you I have nothing but the highest respect. But realize that during my life, I was _elected_ as President. My countrymen chose me to rule over them. I cannot so easily give up their trust, even if the men who voted for me are now dust. I have a responsibility to my country. The best I can offer is a tentative alliance." Archer tugged a glove off and walked forward toward Waver and Rider. "My goals for the moment can be acquired otherwise. The Holy Grail is only a convenience for me, for I can achieve my true desire isn't necessarily tied to a wish. I see no reason to aid you in winning this War so long as you agree to help me afterwards." It was a huge concession that Valentine was making, but he was already plotting on leading America into a new era of prosperity, allying with Rider now would likely translate into huge benefits for Valentine down the road, provided of course that one of them win the Holy Grail War.

"Striking an alliance with a man such as you would be an honor. I will not yet ask you what your goals are, but the issue remains of your Master then. What are his motivations?" Iskander strode forward and shook Valentine's hand, ignoring Waver's quiet protests otherwise.

"Some sort of shortsighted selfishness, no doubt. Supposedly he is quite powerful a Magus, but it matters not. Once his Command Spells are used up, his usefulness will come to an end. In terms of my well-being, I am not tied to him in any way. There lies an alternate source of mana that I use to keep my soul grounded to this Earth."

In the distance, in the direction of the moon and sea, both hidden behind the concrete husks of buildings, came faint screeches of steel and battle. All three, Waver, Archer, and Rider turned to wonder and the battle lust came upon the King of Conquerors. The unmistakable weight of magic was emanating from the source of the noise.

"Then, the first action we will take as allies, will be to investigate this matter…"

* * *

Uryuu stood still for a moment while the demon he had summoned several days ago applied several drops of a mysterious potion to the base of neck, the inside of the wrists, behind the earlobes, and finally to the fragile back of the knee. For a moment he felt some sort of magic working, the daubs of liquid that had been used to wet the pulse points of his body quickly cooled, dried, and became unnoticeable. Only a faint smell remained, something so faint and light that Uryuu could scarce believe that it existed. After a moment he was convinced that he had been imagining that mysterious smell, and forgot about it.

"It's perfume." The sallow faced man said. He had called himself Jean Baptiste-Grenouille, but the French was unpronounceable to Uryuu, Caster was what the serial killer called his new friend. "Vinegar, cat's shit, salt, dirt, some piss. Cheese. This is the base of the perfume, the core, secret smell that you'll hide behind layers of fragrance. Add the base to rectified alcohol. Then put in some _essence absolue._ Jonquil. Orange blossom. Stock. Then you have perfume."

"But why? Why perfume?" The orange haired man shrugged his jacket back on and frowned, confused. He didn't understand that smell was the invisible hand by which miracles moved in the world… but Caster did. The Servant had been God for a short while, before rejecting his immortality. His perfection.

Caster hesitated for a bit because he did not know what to say. Grenouille had never been never one for words. Seven years, a third of his life, had been spent in voluntary solitude, afterall. Living off of snakes and bats and worms and moss. Collecting dew to drink and licking stones for moisture. Spending nearly twenty hours a day in complete and utter darkness, nestled nearly a hundred meters underground in a hole where no living thing had been before him. Words were not his strong suit. After seven years of self-imposed exile, it had taken Caster a month to learn to speak again. And now, after nearly three hundred years… even magic couldn't tell him what to say. How to explain the colors of the world to a blind man? That was Grenouille's dilemma; his Master didn't have the nose that Caster did, even dogs and sharks couldn't compare. Uryuu Ryuunosuke would never be able to understand the world of scent that Grenouille lived in…

"It's hard to explain. And I'm not good with words. Just know that when you're wearing this perfume, people won't remember you. You'll smell good, like flowers and oranges, but under that smell, the base layer of vinegar and salt and shit is the smell of a human being. Not a specific human being, but of all human beings. The doorman won't remember us."

Uryuu found it hard to believe, but accepted it anyways. According to the notes that his parents had left behind Caster was some sort of demon, so anything was possible. The two of them walked for a little while and entered a luxury apartment complex. The two of them looked out of place. Caster's blue frock coat and smart leather shoes were at the height of fashion three centuries ago. Uryuu just looked poor.

But it didn't matter. The man sitting at the reception desk didn't even look up from his magazine as Servant and Master walked past. The inhabitants of the building, what few of them they had been outside at this hour didn't even turn their heads. It was like they were invisible, or rather, it was as if they had become so bland and generic that they couldn't even be distinguished as individuals. They were more like mannikins than human beings. Uryuu snapped a finger at a passing woman and while she was surprised for one fleeting second, she carried on as if nothing happened.

"This is pretty freaky, Caster. Why don't they notice us?"

Grenouille found himself soundless as he sought to put his craft into words. He had never explained his perfumery to anyone.

"I don't really know myself. It just works."

Uryuu seemed to take that answer happily. The serial killer put his hands behind his head and chortled. "Well, this stuff is useful. Like _really_ useful. It would make doing my art so much easier."

"Thanks, I guess." Grenouille had stopped to sniff the air. The smell of so many people… layered everyday as they went about their lives. The stale scent of dinner that had been eaten just hours before. The smell of sex and tobacco and human beings, of filth and the futile attempts by which people attempted to clean the filth. The mess might have been gone, but to Grenouille's nose, the history of the apartment complex was laid bare. A murder had happened here several years ago, he could still smell the blood and the gunpowder, the flesh of the victim, a man, had been slightly cooked around the area where the hot bullet had entered and stayed. Affairs and secret trysts, hidden by the treacherous couples by air freshener and repeated cleanings and washings. Grenouille knew them all. It was as if he had been present for the very act of adultery, as if he had watched the men and women draw their disgusting bodies close together, stinking of heat and sweat and body.

"This was the room right? Number 602?" Uryuu pointed to a door and stepped back. "Can you open it? I don't have anything to break the lock with, and since we're doing this in an apartment, too much noise might wake the neighbors."

Grenouille stepped forward and twisted the doorknob. Even though he had been summoned as Caster, and was physically weak compared to other Servants, he was miles above any ordinary human or even Magi. The lock held for a moment before breaking with a small crack that seemed deafening in the silence of the hallway. Strange as it might sound, Grenouille did not _smell_ anyone waking up. The smell of a sleeping human and one that has just awoken due to a bump in the night is different. Raw fear colors the latter.

"Take care of the parents as quickly as you can. They're on the left most room. Next to the bathroom, the one that's at the end of the hallway leading from the far side of the kitchen; that's where the girl is."

Uryuu bumbled through the house, tripping over shoes and other such obstacles that he could see. Caster, on the other hand, had no such trouble. He trusted his nose more than his eyes and knew where everything in the house was. The trash can in the kitchen was full of fishbones and an empty carton of vanilla ice cream. The shoes were neatly ordered in two rows. He knew where everything was, _how_ everything was, simply by sniffing the air. The printer in the living room, next to two computers, a laptop and a desktop was running low on in. The desktop was two years older than the laptop. The bathroom had last been used three hours ago… and so on. Caster closed the door behind him and reached into the air. A cloth knapsack materialized with a flash of blue and he took out his supplies.

A small olive wood club. A container of animal lard; beef tallow and fat from lamb and pig. A clean linen blanket. Scissors. He stepped gently in the direction of the girl's room, careful not to make a sound. The door opened slowly, softly as Grenouille could manage, in order to kill all noise; he hated noise for his process was largely a noiseless one. The girl slept on the floor, as many Japanese people did. She was pretty, maybe fifteen years old. Hair black, straight, almost like a solid curtain of curry combed velvet instead of individual hairs. Classically beautiful. Soft lips, cute nose, eyebrows overly thick, but this did not detract from her beauty. A series of placards and framed certificates and trophies hanging or leaning against the wall, awards for kendo and martial arts and for winning various academic competitions, declared her to be _Satsuki Kiryuin._ But Grenouille couldn't read Japanese, and if he could, he wouldn't have cared. He didn't care about the small pictures on the desk showing the girl staring sternly, or spending time with her friends, or at the beach, smiling with a book in her hand and hat on her head. Grenouille didn't care about any of this. He raised the club and struck. The dull thump of the wood to the back of her head caused him to recoil as if he had been the one that was hit rather than the girl. He hated that part, not because he had to kill the girl, but because of the _noise_. Soon the girl ceased to breathe and the only sounds Grenouille could hear were the beat of his heart and the gurgling deaths of the adults in the other bedroom.

Silently he opened his knapsack, bringing out his thin cotton blanket and vessel of lard. Sweeping his gangly arms he cleared a space for himself to work. He began the laborious process of greasing the cloth. Reaching over, he shifted some of the blankets that had been covering the girl, exposing her body that shone pink and healthy so soon after death. She was only wearing a light slip of clothing and nothing more. Grenouille stripped her with methodological movements, nothing sexual or erotic on his mind at all. There was only the scent of the girl, quickly fading, and his only lust was to own the smell, to bottle it up forever and ever. He would have the scent, yes he would. Using the sharp, clever scissors, he sheared as much hair as he could from the girl's head and placed the raven tresses to the side with reverence, as if he was handling an artifact of unimagined value. The razor came next, and with the help of _canned shaving cream,_ something his Master had informed him of one morning when it had been noticed that Grenouille's beard was growing in too heavily, Grenouille shaved the girl's body.

His hands quivered as he painted the thin blanket he had brought. Methodically he went over every inch, once, twice, and then again. Lavishing thick globs of tallow where he thought the blanket would touch the most fragrant parts of the girl's body: the secret place between her legs, the undersides of her arms, the smooth slopes of the throat. Soon his deed was done and he called his companion into the room.

"Uryuu. I'm ready." Even Caster's hushed tone carried in the silence and soon enough, Uryuu Ryuunosuke was standing outside the door, just about to open it. "But don't come in if your hands are bloody. If you smell too heavily, you can't be in here. Not even if you wash up."

The admonishment drew a sigh from Uryuu and the door opened just a peek, allowing only an eye to be seen through the minute opening he had made. "Is this good? I'd really like to watch, especially if she's anything like she looks like in the pictures I saw in the hallway." Uryuu wolf-whistled, from what he could see of the girl, she was quite the looker, even without her hair… especially in the moonlight, all shining and still with that pink glow of vitality. Uryuu shivered, too bad the girl was dead. She looked like she would be fun…

"This is the most important part, Uryuu. The blanket is greased and we wrap it around the girl." Caster demonstrated with an air of artistry about him that Uryuu would never have expected from the ugly man. "Once she's wrapped we wait until morning. Then we'll take a knife and scrape off the tallow. It's soft and runny at the beginning because her body temperature is still high, but if we wait long enough, it'll harden. The human body has an average temperature of about 37 degrees Celsius. Tallow melts at about the same."

"What'll we do with the tallow? Like, I get that this is _your_ thing, just like the stuff I did to her parents is _my_ thing, but what's the point?" Uryuu asked. He tried to be as polite as he could because he respected Caster as a fellow artisan.

It took a while for Grenouille to find the words, but they came spewing out once he found the inspiration.

"Point… the tallow absorbs her smell. Satsuki Kiryuin is a human being just like you are, and when the tallow absorbs her smell, she'll live forever. Once I get the _essence absolue_ from the lard, I can make perfume from it. If I just used _her_ scent, the perfume would be just like her, understand?"

"Not really… this is my first time and everything. Could you show me? You have a lot of cool perfumes and stuff, like, I didn't know guys were so into perfume, but that's totally fine if you are." He opened the door just a tad wider as he caught a glass flacon and balled up handkerchief that Caster threw.

"This isn't a girl, but you should be able to guess what it used to be once you smell it." Grenouille sat back on his haunches, an uncomfortable position, but he didn't care. "Put a couple drops to the handkerchief and wave it around. Don't smell directly from the flacon."

Uryuu obeyed and put a single drop of the golden brown liquid to the cloth and wafted the smell from it to his nose. Instinctively his eyes closed and he entered a new world… A meadow of wildflowers; cosmos and asters and narcissuses. He was in Austria, under the loud blue sky and the warmth of the entire world shining just for him. It was like smoke, the smell of the flowers circled him and saturated his lungs with the colors of life and passions of existence. Never before had he been so content! Such color, and intensity… Uryuu ran in tottering lunges, skipping and tripping and laughing in exuberance, a child finding that he had the power to walk, just like the other humans around him. A warm feeling, a _powerful_ feeling.

He awoke only when the back of his head hit the wall behind him. Uryuu had fainted from pleasure. The perfume in his hand, seemed to take on a new meaning as he stared at it, remembered the field of flowers and warmth of the sun as if he had been there just seconds ago. This was worth it's weight it gold. This was _true_ art. Beauty. Scent. His arms trembled from the weight of the flacon, it was as if the whole universe had been stoppered into the small cut-glass container. He was holding the world in his hands.

"That's not a very good one. One of my earlier works, before learning the _enfleurage_ , you see. I was still a baby back then." Caster smiled, a rare thing, and not a very pretty thing. "But it's still miles better than anything you'd find in stores. The rest of 'em are hacks. They don't know smells like I do. No one does." Uryuu knew that was a statement of fact rather than a boast or exaggeration.

"So you're going to make perfume out of Ms. Kiryuin there? And it'll smell better than what I have here?"

"Last time I did this, it was twenty-five girls. All of them ' _pretty'_. All of them at the peak of their lives… if I had harvested them a day later they wouldn't have been worth it. Twenty-five girls, Uryuu; and the perfume I made from them would have let me rule the world."

By now Uryuu had taken more sniffs from the handkerchief, dampening the cloth every so often to get the full strength of the marvelous odor. He was a convert now and would listen to all that Grenouille had to say. There was no doubt in Uryuu's mind that Caster could do what he was claiming to do.

"What about this time then? Are we gonna get twenty-four more girls? I'll help next time! I really want to smell this ' _ultimate cool'_ perfume that you're talking about." Uryuu was excited even as he rubbed the slight bump on the back of his head that had risen from his fainting spell.

Grenouille remembered the hot summer day, the day that he had been sentenced to die. Thousands of people had been watching and each and everyone one of them had condemned him to the cruelest fate. It had taken one drop back then. One drop of the bottled God that he had concocted over the course of two years. One drop of perfume to send the world into a frenzied orgy. That one drop had taught them all to love. They, the stupid, backwards people of the town of Grasse, even the nobles with their Enlightenment thoughts and the clergy with their haughtiness, they had all degenerated into the purest love they had ever felt in their lives. The old man had lain with the virgin. The priest with the whore. The baker with the seamstress and butcher all at once. Love. Disgusting, human love; that's what Grenouille had bottled.

"Twenty-four more."

* * *

While murder was taking place, Kiritsugu Emiya had taken his post on an lonely rooftop. The night was growing older and the sterile concrete, rough to the touch, was cooling slowly. It was a calm night and the clouds were few. He took a deep breath of the slightly salted air, the smell of gulls and ocean spray blew in from the sea.

"Maiya," he spoke in only the quietest tones. His assistant was somewhere to his side, out of his field of view. The two had been monitoring the fight between Saber and Berserker through the scopes of their rifles, scanning the horizon and every dark corner to find the Master of the enemy Servant. The battle would likely end with Saber's defeat. Kiritsugu had thought he had done quite well in summoning Saber, which of course, was considered the strongest class of Servant; but it seemed that even she could not compete with Berserker. "Do you see anything yet?"

A minute passed with no answer but Kiritsugu was loath to take his eye from the scope. Any minute now he would see something… someone and he'd take the shot and the war would come one step closer to ending.

"Maiya, is there something wrong?" He queried. There came a garbled noise and the response made Kiritsugu freeze.

"Tell him. Tell him what's wrong." It was a man that was speaking. Soft spoken, a heavy French accent. His voice was like death itself. "Speak up." But Maiya said nothing. Not even nothing. Kiritsugu couldn't even hear her breathing. "And of course you know this already; but there is a gun pointed at you. And at this distance there isn't even the slightest possibility of me missing."

Kiritsugu nodded slowly, recognizing the threat. He hadn't expected someone to catch onto them this early in the War, his intentions had been to hide in the shadows and covertly remove Master's from a distance, using Saber as a distraction and lure for the enemy Servants to busy themselves with.

"I don't suppose you'd tell me who you are?" Kiritsugu spoke evenly and betrayed no fear or hesitation. Losing Maiya at this point would be a detriment, but at the end of the day she was a tool, a useful tool but a tool nonetheless. She understood that their relationship wasn't even that of teacher and student. She was a friend, an irreplaceable friend, but everyone loses their friends at some point… there was a knife in Maiya's mouth. A long, slender model, burnished and dusted in a way so that it would not gleam even in the moonlight. He could tell by the handle length, a finely carved wooden piece, that the blade was long, the point must have reached part way down her throat, the tonsils must had rested lightly on the surface of the blade, just thin enough so that the edges would rub, but not cut the inside of the mouth unless the hand holding it so desired.

The gunman was so inconspicuous that it had the opposite effect; dressed in a plain, boring suit and a balaclava on to cover his face. The assailant seemed more like a white collar bank robber than an assassin… Assassin? The idea sprang into Kiritsugu's head and stuck. It had been announced that Assassin had been killed just hours before, but it seemed that it had been a farce. No one other than a Servant could have crept behind both Maiya and Kiritsugu, both trained killers, so easily. A gun pointed at Kiritsugu and a knife stuck down Maiya's throat, her face angled upwards so that the full length could be pushed down. He could expend a Command Spell to call Saber to assist them, but he was reluctant to do so. Iri was with Saber after all, and if the Servant was called back to protect him, Iri would almost certainly be killed.

"You seem to be somewhat intelligent, certainly more proactive than my Master, who is currently in hiding. And judging by that stupid expression on your face, you have surmised that I am the Assassin class Servant. Perhaps you can guess to why I am here?" Assassin sounded generous, almost patronizing.

"To kill us? It's almost obvious. Why else would you be here, threatening my assistant and myself?"

The Servant chuckled and slowly pulled the knife from Maiya's mouth, so gentle and careful not to cut her. The knife was moistened with saliva and hard phlegm, the way that the mouth with start to drown when you cannot breath correctly. She started to heave. How long had that knife been in her mouth before Kiritsugu had noticed not all was well?

Assassin wiped the saliva from the blade on Maiya's shoulder. "I don't know whether I should be disgusted or impressed. The blade on _Your Eternal Reward_ is nearly eight inches in length, and she managed to take all of it in her throat. How lewd." He pushed his hostage forward with a gentle motion of his hand. "Perhaps that's simply a compliment to your masculinity, Kiritsugu Emiya." The Servant reached for something on the inside of his suit jacket, and pulled out a single polaroid photograph. "I have more of these."

With a flick of the wrist the picture fluttered in the breeze and landed in front of the kneeling Magus. His shame. His preemptive betrayal of his wife. Adultery. Him and Maiya in the hotel room. The beast with two backs. Sex. Guilt.

"How do you have this." Kiritsugu was stuttering now. If Assassin had decided to show this to Irisviel, it would have broken her heart… "How did you get this photograph?" He yelled uncharacteristically. He loved his wife, but he hated the fact that at the close of the War she would have to die… he hated the fact that he would be the one to kill her. Judas betraying Jesus. Iri hadn't done anything wrong besides falling in love.

"It is my business to know things that I should not know. It would be more accurate to call me ' _Spy'_ than Assassin. Consider this blackmail. Your Servant is quite powerful if she has survived against Berserker this long, and you are the infamous Magus killer. Take a back seat. Relax a little. Don't be in such a hurry to end everything." Assassin lit a cigarette and turned away, ignoring the fact that both Kiritsugu and Maiya were drawing their firearms. Then, before they could shoot, he looked at his wrist as if to check the time, and disappeared.

* * *

Lancer had long since fled the battlefield, ordered back to wherever his Master had been hiding. That had left Saber alone to deal with the Pyramid Head, the Servant Berserker. The gore splattered monster was certainly a formidable foe, only Saber's **Instinct** and **Power Burst** allowed her to keep ahead of the mad Servant's brutal cleaves and stabs. But even with her mana flooding into her body, making her abnormally strong, Arturia's bones screamed every time her blade met the dirty steel of her opponent. Her arms trembled with the weight of her sword but she fought on, defeat now meant that she wouldn't get to make her wish… and it was likely that the monster she was fighting against would hunt Irisviel down. Beasts had no sense of honor.

Gritting her teeth, Saber ducked a wild backhanded swing and dove through Berserker's non-existent guard, scoring a massive hit to the towering man's side. She felt her blade cut through cords of muscle so deep that the wound left organs clearly visible. And other Servant would have been crippled by such a wound.

Berserker soldiered on and swung again and again, his blade carried such force that hills of sand dozens of meters away were blown away by the massive amount of air being displaced by the great knife. It would mean death to be hit even once.

" _Saber. Get Iri and regroup at the manor. Don't let Berserker follow. Either defeat him or find some other way to escape him."_ Kiritsugu's voice echoed in Arturia's head and she nearly missed dodging a stab from Berserker's polearm.

It wasn't in her nature to run from a fight, certainly she would not have run from a duel against Lancer; but at this point, dirtied by blood that had sprayed from wounds not her own and tired from the rigours of battle against the indefatigable Berserker, it seemed wise to flee. Subconsciously she had stopped thinking Pyramid Head to be human and instead had placed him on the level of a rabid dog. Dangerous, but not worthy of any respect or convention.

She jumped high, and instead of using her sword, she put a foot to the rusted helmet that Pyramid Head wore and _kicked,_ expending a huge amount of mana in a single burst, knocking Berserker back far into the ocean.

' _I really hope he can't swim…'_ Saber found herself thinking. But already the waves were breaking, water was churning and she knew that while Berserker was probably injured, maybe concussed, the Servant would ignore them.

"Irisviel, we need to leave! Berserker will be here soon and—" Saber's voice caught in her throat. She felt the new magic in the air. She could smell the terror. A chariot had appeared, fallen from the sky, kicking up towering columns and clouds of sand. Through the strange, thick fog of sand she made out three figures exiting the chariot. They were near where Irisviel was hiding. The magic meant that another Servant was here.

With Berserker wading back to shore and the mysterious figures in front of her, threatening the girl she had been charged with protecting, and dare she say _friend_ ; Saber knew she would fight once more.

 **AN: Wow, another chapter. How cool. Servants that have been summoned are as follows:**

 **Arturia Pendragon (Fate Series) as Saber**

 **Iskander of Macedonia (Fate Series) as Rider**

 **Diarmuid Ua Duibhne (Fate Series) as Lancer**

 **Funny Valentine (JJBA) as Archer**

 **Spy (Team Fortress 2) as Assassin**

 **Pyramid Head (Silent Hill) as Berserker**

 **Jean-Baptiste Grenouille (Perfume) as Caster**

 **Since all seven have been introduced in some way, I'll start doing stat pages for them starting with Grenouille, since I think he's probably the one that people would be least familiar with. They'll probably be very lengthy so please, bear with me.**

 _Jean-Baptiste Grenouille_

Class: Caster

Master: Uryuu Ryuunosuke

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Height: 170 cm

Weight: 55 kg

STR: E

CON: C

AGI: D

MGI: E (B)

LCK: A

Noble Phantasm: EX

 _Biography_

Grenouille was born on July 17th, 1738 in a Parisian fish market under the hot summer sun. His mother left him to die, but was caught and executed. His time at the orphanage was uneventful save for the fact that the children attempted to strangle him when he got there for no apparent reason. He found that his sense of smell was supernaturally powerful. At a young age the orphanage sold Grenouille to work for a tannery. He was later sold again to work for a perfumer once the perfumer discovered Grenouille power of smell which allowed him to make the most glorious perfumes. Not once in his life did anyone show Grenouille any affection or respect. They simply used him for their own profit, and instinctively they knew that he was a monster in human skin. In Paris, Grenouille discovered that young girls had the greatest smell of all.

Once Grenouille became an adult, he left the perfumery having learned all he could there and traveled to a mountain to be alone. For seven years he stayed in a cave, eating rats and lizards and licking moisture from rocks to stay alive. In his cave he sorted all the scents he had ever smelled, but he found one thing lacking. He didn't have a smell of his own.

Grenouille found that because he did not have a smell of his own, people were naturally afraid of him, since every other human being has a smell; a human without a smell must be some sort of monster. He set out to create a smell for himself; this would be the ultimate perfume. He left his cave and traveled to a small town. There he killed young girls and stole their scents using techniques he had learned from his new master. When the perfume was finished, he was caught for the murder of twenty-five girls and sentenced to death.

At the execution he revealed his new perfume. The perfume made him God, for with it he had the power to control what people loved. After all, it was made from beautiful young women whom the world had cherished so deeply. Despite his accomplishment, and despite the fact that even with less than a water bottle full of the perfume rule the world as not a king, but a God; Grenouille felt empty. The people loved the perfume and they loved him only because he wore the perfume. He still had no scent, no soul.

He traveled back to Paris, to the place of his birth, and in the crowded marketplace, he dumped the perfume over himself. The people around him gathered and loved him so much that they just had _to take a bite_.

 _Tactics_

Grenouille has mastered the art of perfumery and has total control over smells. Now that he is a Servant and because he has magic, the perfumes he creates have a much more powerful effect. Because his physical ability is very low compared to the other Servants, he used the tactic of hiding and making perfumes to aid his hiding as he harvests materials for his Ultimate god-perfume.

 _Class Skills_

Territory Creation: B

Grenouille never knew how to use magic in his life, although his perfumes have amazing effects without it. As Caster, Grenouille can create a Territory where his magical ability rises to (B) rank. Making perfumes in the territory makes them much more effective.

Tool Creation: D

Grenouille can create any tool he needs to create a perfume so long as he is in his Territory.

 _Personal_

Smell of Teen Spirit: A

Grenouille's sense of smell was already unsurpassed during his lifetime. He once ate a sausage, and seven years later, he smelled it on the clothes that he had worn while eating said sausage. As Caster, he can now smell at a much greater range to the point that even hundreds of kilometers away he can tell exactly what an individual is doing just by how their scent is moving and what it is interacting with.

Perfumery: C

It is no real form of magic, but Grenouille learned from master perfumers during his lifetime so he knows all the conventions and science behind perfumes. By using this simple science, his supernatural sense of smell allows him to create the perfect scents.

 _Noble Phantasm_

 _Parfum:_ A

His perfumes are varied and can fill all types of purposes. Grenouille primarily makes scents to mask his own presence, which works similarly to Assassin's **Presence Concealment** , and to inspire emotions in his enemy. Because perfumes are not magic, they will not be affected by magical resistance or armors.

 _Bottled Love:_ EX

It is because beautiful people smell good that the people around them are so attracted. Grenouille, by killing girls at the height of their beauty, the peak of puberty; he bottles a smell that controls the emotion of love. This is a power that only God should have. _Bottled Love_ will be completed when Grenouille kills and bottles twenty-five girls of specific quality. Killing and bottling twenty-five girls would take Grenouille two years normally, but because he can now use magic to speed up the process, it can be completed in twenty days.


	3. Backbone

**AN: Caster's first victim was Satsuki Kiryuin, from Kill La Kill. He's a creepy fucker, he is. I'm also looking for a beta reader so pls pm me.**

All that was left of Valentine was the lower half of his body. Blood seeped from the huge tear in a huge gush, then in a slow trickle. Another casualty of the Holy Grail War… Rider's first ally had been eliminated all too soon.

Saber stood on a sand dune, panting from her exertion. She had used much mana to fuel that burst of speed, that terrible strike had carried so much force that there was no blood to coat her invisible sword; it had been flung off with her speed of motion. One threat had been easily removed, and Saber could sense that the man she had killed was a Servant. The remaining pair, the muscular giant and thin waif of a boy stood stock still. Had they been allied with that Servant she had cut in half? It seemed like it, for the tall man with burning, crimson hair stooped down to touch the puddle of blood that had formed. The blood had stained the sand a fearsome shade of red and brown.

"The two of you should leave," her gaze was imperious, and despite her small stature, the height of the dune and backdrop of light that the moon provided was enough to make her intimidating. "Your friend has just died. Go and mourn your loss. I have enough honor to allow that, even for an enemy." She looked over her shoulder to find that Berserker was not there, not in the ocean and not on shore. It seemed that even the beast had retreated for now.

The man stood from his crouch and clasped the boy next to him on the shoulder causing him to stumble. Even across the distance, Saber could make out phrases of comfort. It seemed that this was the first time the boy had watched someone die…

"You must be Saber then, judging by your skill with the sword." The man sounded calm, but there was a scum of annoyance behind his forced tone. "I, Iskander the Great, King of Conquerors, had come here today to seek allies. To extend the proverbial olive branch to my fellow Servants so that they may join me in conquering the world. Archer, the man you had so hastily cut down, was my first ally besides my Master here." Rider's eyes turned hard.

"A king would never accept a place at the feet of another, no matter whom they might be. Leave here at once. I will not warn you again. That man was another casualty of battle, regrettable as it may be, participating in this War means you must be ready for death."

"There's no harm done, Rider. The girl is right when she says that we must all be prepared for death." The speaker was a new one, but familiar all the same. The pink overcoat and tight fitting clothes underneath and the golden hair, flowing ever so elegantly before ending in small single looped ringlets…

Saber faltered. Another seemingly undying enemy? As if Berserker wasn't enough of a seemingly immortal problem; Archer had been cut in half, the strewn limbs were proof enough, and he had come back to life. No signs of damage or fatigue or consequences from his revival. What a terrifying ability… Rider seemed to be having a small celebration, laughing and prancing around without a care in the world, as if Archer's impossibility had been a particularly good joke.

"Little girls shouldn't be playing with swords," Valentine turned to Saber and spoke harshly. "Children are too rash and hotheaded to be trusted with any sort of power," he was ranting now and his voice grew more passionate, stronger. "Rider, his Master, Waver Velvet, and I, Funny Valentine came here in peace. We could have started by butchering the girl over there," Archer pointed in the distance, the vague direction where Arturia knew that Irisviel was hiding. "But instead we present ourselves in the open, a gesture of good faith. And you attack. Unprovoked you cut me in two…"

"This is a War, _Archer_. And we are all participants. Trust beyond courtesy should be disregarded." Saber tensed even tighter than she had been before. Valentine's words were full of ignorance. She was not just a child, she was the King of Knights, Arturia Pendragon… but of course she could reveal herself as the others had. That being said, Funny Valentine was a name that Saber was not familiar with, he must have been a Heroic Spirit from a different, later era than the one she had lived in. She had heard of Iskander before, the King from Macedon who had campaigned eastward and conquered the lands of Arabia and Persia and even the Egyptians to the south. There was a man she could respect, a true King, her equal.

"You both spoke of alliances," Saber said, "before any offer of such is extended to me, I must refuse in advance. I have needs of the Grail and cannot even consider the possibility of another sharing in its wish save for my Master." She turned on her heel and began to walk towards Iri. The night was ending and she had no further desire to fight. Berserker had been a terrifying opponent, one that she could not defeat without using _Excalibur_ …

" _Hurry, Saber. We have things to talk about and not much time."_

* * *

Kariya Matou found his answer in an outdated psychology textbook, a certain section had discussed a string of shared hallucinations that had broken in the north western United States in the 50's. All of the patients had spoken of a misty town full of monsters and creepy shadows. Fog of corruption and a shared bogeyman… a Pyramid Head. Further research had shown Pyramid Head to be a recurring figure in nightmares and hallucinations even centuries ago. People who didn't even live on the same continent or shared a language had the same dream of the same monster…

If a Heroic Spirit was an individual who had been uplifted by humanity as a paragon of virtue and heroism, Berserker was the opposite. The collective consciousness of the world had declared him to be the manifestation of fear of the self, according to one source. The Shadow Aspect, Jung had written; the part of the self that one rejects because it is to terrible to consider it a part of themselves. Repressed desires and guilts. Shame. Regret.

Perhaps that was why the Crest Worms hadn't flared while Berserker had been locked in combat. It was fear of the self, the emotion of guilt, that fueled Pyramid Head instead of mana. Kariya had plenty to feel guilty about, and if what Kariya had hypothesized was correct, Berserker would be able to feed on the insecurities of his enemies as well.

"Just what are you?" Kariya asked rhetorically. His Servant was sitting down in his living room, holding a blunt darning needle and a spool of fishing line. The injuries were severe but Kariya didn't care about any stains that might have been left behind by the Servant, he didn't have long anyways…

Without even a flinch Pyramid Head began to stitch his own wounds. Not even a twinge of discomfort. It was as if the Servant was made of dirty, grimy stone.

Kariya yawned and dreamt of a foggy little town called Silent Hill.

* * *

Grenouille was regretting having set up his laboratory in such a far off place. Uryuu, with the aid of a perfume for inconspicuousness, had broken into a beachside penthouse and killed the owners, insisting that they have have the "coolest" place for their new base of operations. It was spacious, well-ventilated, and though Grenouille didn't care for any of the creature comforts, his Master certainly did.

But here he was now. Walking through the night streets of downtown Fuyuki City with his baggage hanging limply around his neck like a giant plastic yoke. The body of a girl wrapped in black plastic trash bags, duct taped together to make an obscene and unwieldy package. He could process scents much more efficiently back in his laboratory. The weight of the body would have been crippling during his past life, Grenouille had never been very strong, but now, his new body bore the weight with satisfaction. The girl was a trophy or some sort, a testament to the fact that he, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, was head and shoulders above the animals who scurried along with their loveless lives. He was content.

He thought of Paris and the tannery where he had lugged the ammonia sodden skins of animals into vats of feces and urine so that they could be dehaired. Hours spent in the damp, squalid conditions with a heavy wooden stick, beating the moisture from the skins so bloated and pregnant with moisture it seemed that they were still alive and breathing, full cows and goats and lambs and horses to cut and cure and turn to leather.

Fuyuki was different. The air, although laden with the smell of salt spray from the ocean was dirty. Paris when Grenouille had lived there had been full of the stench of six hundred thousand people all eating and breathing and shitting and living. Chamber pots and leftovers were dumped onto every street corner so that when the rain came the waste and filth of civilization, of human beings, would be washed away in a thick, dirty slurry of the most horrendous smell. The air in Fuyuki bore the scent of clean mountains and the freedom of the ocean, all corrupted by odors new to Grenouille. Burning gasoline. Electricity. Heavy plastics. Grenouille had thought, that after hundreds of years of progress, that human beings would have been able to progress past their dirty, loveless state he had grown used to. But his nose did not lie. The city smelled different, but it was filthy nonetheless. The stench of humans was what Grenouille hated.

For a sickening moment he compared himself to Baldini, the old perfumer who had taught him the craft. The conventions. The standards. Old methods for extracting the hidden nectar of roses so that they could be turned to perfume. Symphonies of color and smell. Baldini hadn't been a very good perfumer, but he had been an apt teacher, and Grenouille had learned well. Now the student had become the teacher. Uryuu had shown great interest in perfumery, dubbing it "cool" as he did so many other things, and although Grenouille's Master didn't have half the nose that he did, it was refreshing to find someone so enthusiastic about his craft.

He sniffed at the air with his nose held high. His olfactory powers were so strong that he walked down the street with his eyes closed, trusting his sense of smell to guide him. He smelled the ocean. Dust. The hot steel of a cooling car's engine. The dirty, sour smell of gasoline. The smell of the dead girl on his back and the two who were walking towards him. The smell of magic, heavy and dense, growing denser. His eyes opened. A Magus and a Servant were walking towards him. The warrior, a woman dressed as a man, Caster could tell she was the Servant by the smell of blood that clung to her like a wet cloth. She was the shorter of the pair and was blonde. Pretty, but too young. The other one however… she had no scent. Her clothes, they smelled of tomato soup and saltine cracker, the faintest remnants from whatever she had eaten earlier that day. Minty smell of toothpaste from the morning that had long since gone bad and dry. But no scent of her own.

But how? The girl was next to the non-human, the one with no scent was smiling. She was happily chatting away with the Servant next to her, and the Servant, while tense, Grenouille could sense happiness on her. They were friends? Equals? They made each other happy and enjoyed spending time with one another. He cursed his sense of smell for it gave him the visions of a life that he had never once had with every breath. Human interaction. A smile. A hug. The smell of the Servant and the non-smell of the silver haired girl. Mingling, mixing with every movement. He began to tremble. Rage. Blinding rage. He walked forward stiffly, looking at his feet. They pair was still a ways off, a dozen meters or so, and Caster tried to tame his rage before they grew closer and noticed. He was still wearing the perfume for unobtrusiveness, so it was likely that neither Servant or non-human would notice him; but if he was to shout or attack them in his rage, he would surely be discovered.

' _How can this girl live so happily? She has no scent just as I have no scent. She is as much a monster as I am…'_ Grenouille roared in his head. That had been his terrible discovery in his cave in the French countryside, alone from all the world and humans inhabiting it. He had been alone and he had discovered why he had been alone. ' _They were scared of me. The monster with no scent. A cuckoo bird hiding among a nest of humans. I look human but am no human. She is no human for she has no scent…'_ The injustice of it all drove him mad with each step he and the girl with no scent grew closer. Even though his cloud of rage he noticed the smell of man clinging to the girl's silver hair and clothes, and horribly, Grenouille realized that the damn girl _was married_. Someone had loved her unconditionally. She had a child, for Caster could smell that too. A small child. A daughter. Soft and innocent and weak…

' _How how how how how how how how!'_ The frantic chant grew in his mind and he nearly dropped his precious cargo. The girl with no scent had found love, impossibly she had found love when Grenouille had looked for it his entire life. He had even made that perfume, the smell of God. Love bottled and stoppered in his glass flacon. He alone had the power to command the love of mankind.

And yet no one loved him. They loved the perfume, but they did not care one whit for Grenouille. Yet this girl with no smell had found what had escaped him for so long… Jealousy made him feel as if he was on fire. Every length of nerve and vein in his body was rushing white hot messages of hate and violence.

He had thought that upon winning the Holy Grail War, he would wish for a unique smell of his own to finally mark him as a human being capable of love and being loved… But the girl had it so easily.

Finally they approached each other. This late at night, early in the morning, there was no one else in the streets but them. Caster toned out their voices and closed his eyes and ceased to breathe while they passed. It was all he could do to contain himself.

"Oh! I'm so sorry mister," a voice, light and beautiful and kind, spoke. Grenouille blinked his eyes and briefly recognized that the girl had either walked into him or vice versa. The impact had jarred him just a bit and the plastic wrapped corpse he had been carrying thudded to the ground. He heard the skull break. A dead weight fall will break bones. A skull can shatter like an egg if it hits the ground just right.

' _No!'_ There would be blood now, from that impact, the tiniest bit of blood would contaminate the whole procedure. Even with the heart unbeating, the body was still fresh and the blood still warm and runny. It was ruined.

Grenouille managed to stutter out a response but it was garbled and unintelligible to both Irisviel and Saber, although the latter recognized that it was French and not Japanese.

"We'll be on our way, sir. Hope we didn't cause you too much trouble." The blonde said smoothly and put her hands on the scentless one's shoulders protectively.

"No trouble… no trouble at all." Caster nearly choked on his rage as he struggled to make a response. He was staring at his feet, confusing and enraged and scared all at once. "It's fine." Trembling, he picked up the wrapped corpse, now useless corpse, and stuffed as much of it as he could into a nearby trashcan, nearly spilling it over.

"Mister, there's a dump on the other side of town, you know. If you want to throw away something big like that you should go there." As Irisviel finished, a thought came to her mind. "Saber, since the dump is near the manor, would it be alright if we drove him there? Whatever he's carrying looks heavy, and…" Iri's voice trailed as she got a good look at Grenouille. The ugly, the downtrodden expression on his face, and there was just something about his sad expression that made her want to hug and comfort him. "Would that be alright, Saber?"

Saber looked annoyed and torn all at once. She had promised Iri that while they were together, she would do everything in her power to let her experience the world that had been hidden from her. The stranger didn't seem threatening at all and it was likely that the shoddily dressed man was either homeless or otherwise disadvantaged. If he proved to be dangerous, Saber would have no time dispatching the threat… wasn't it her duty to help the needy? As a knight she had taken a vow to serve the people in goodness and faith. As monarch she had sworn to the people of Camelot, old and rich and young and poor, that she would care for them as if they were family. Her honor compelled her to nod stiffly, causing Irisviel to give a small cheer of happiness.

"I think that would be fine, Irisviel. He doesn't look that dangerous." Saber finally declared with a heavy tone of suspicion in her voice. "You can drive, Iri. I'll keep an eye on our new _friend_."

At those words, the homunculus' pleading expression turned breathtakingly innocent. "We can help you out, mister," she said, so happy just to be able to help a stranger in need, "do you want to come with us?"

Grenouille couldn't speak he was so disgusted. The girl's happiness made him want to retch. It was personally offending to him that the girl without scent, Irisviel, could be so happy. For a moment, a heart pounding, shuddering moment he thought of bringing out his small wooden club and dashing the girl over the head and spraying her brains over the pavement, damn the consequences. But he didn't. Shallow breaths. He smelled for the morning and the sea and the mountain breeze to calm himself. The envy never abated.

' _I should refuse and run back home.'_ He knew he couldn't. All this time he had effected the aura of a meek, helpless little man; to run would label him forever as suspicious, and since both Saber and the scentless one knew his face, that would damn him. The Servant would undoubtedly investigate, paranoid as she seemed, and he then he would lose.

"Thank you." Grenouille said, and with that he picked up the ruined corpse and shouldered the burden once more, this time to the den of the enemy. "It means much to me." His words were awkward and choppy as if he hadn't spoken in ages.

"What's your name, mister? I'm called Irisviel von Einzbern. My friend here is Artur—" she caught herself in mid sentence and hastily presented a correction. "Her name is Saber." the homunculus seemed to be waiting for a reaction, she had been hoping that revealing Saber as a woman would at least surprise their new traveling companion, but there was no such response.

"My name is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille."

"Eh? Weren't you surprised to find out that Saber was a girl? Most of the other people we met today were."

Grenouille shrugged and said nothing. The trio entered a car that was parked by the side of the road. A Mercedes-Benz. Irisviel got into the driver's seat while Saber opened the trunk for Grenouille to put his luggage in.

"You're French, aren't you?" Saber and Grenouille were alone for a brief moment while Irisviel hummed happily in the driver's seat, waiting for the two to enter the vehicle.

"How'd you know?" Grenouille mumbled out. He had been extremely uncomfortable the moment they had met, and the heady feeling was growing with every moment. He hoped that his jealousy wasn't too obvious.

"I've known many Frenchmen." Saber's words were ambiguous but melancholy, as if she was speaking the word 'Frenchmen' as an insult. "Your name sounds French, and you have the look." Grenouille only nodded in response.

Once in the car, no one but Irisviel said much. She was singing along to the radio and driving happily. Grenouille had never been in a car before, but he hid his confusion well. It was like riding in a carriage, except faster and with more swerves. It wasn't long before Grenouille decided that he didn't like the automobile. Not because of the speed or the too soft seats, but because of what it did to the smell of the world. He was cut off here. The air flowing through the conditioning vents was sterile and cool. The closed nature of the car made what little smell present balloon to obscene concentrations. The smell of leather, formaldehyde had been used in the curing process, Grenouille was very familiar with it. Saber smelled of steel and blood and of little girl. Irisviel of nothing at all.

He decided then and there that Irisviel von Einzbern would die. Not for his perfume or for the pursuit of greater and greater smells; but simply because of her existence. The girl without scent had somehow turned out to be everything Grenouille was not. Loved. Loving. Happy. Above all happy.

Twenty-four more girls. Today was a failure, but Grenouille was patient. There would always be tomorrow…

* * *

For the first time, Kirei Kotomine found himself alone with his Servant. The acrid smell of burning tobacco filled his small apartment suite that Risei, Kirei's father, had found for them in the church. The meeting was supposed to be more of a briefing; Assassin would tell Kirei of the other Servants and Masters that he had spied on since his faked death, and Kirei would relay it to his father and Tokiomi.

It had turned into an interrogation of sorts.

"Do you enjoy your work, _monsieur Kotomine_?" Assassin asked. "I hear that you're an Executor. A crusader of sorts, purging the world of heretics and fel beasts. How is that working for you?"

"The work is fine. Challenging at times, but it is rewarding. Monsters have no place in our world." Kirei echoed the words of the Church and of his father. Truthfully, his work was just work. He had no feelings towards it.

"And of your family? Your feelings on them?" Idly, the Frenchman put out his cigarette against the wood frame of the bed. He had been offered a metal bowl as an ashtray, but he had suspected it to be used in the Eucharist, and so desisted from using it.

"I love them of course. My wife and daughter are the reason I fight in this War." Another lie, but it came so easily. He had said those exact words so many times before he almost found himself believing them. His father believed them. Tokiomi believed them. Aoi, his wife believed them. They all trusted him, those simple minded folk. So focused they were on themselves and their own goals that they did not realize the emptiness festering inside him. Kirei scarcely felt anything these days.

"You're lying of course." Smoke filled the room again as Assassin lit another cigarette. "There is no shame in lying, but to be caught at it… tell the truth then, Master. What do you feel towards your family?"

Kirei shrugged and turned to face the small window in his room. The faintest fingers of sunlight were beginning to creep into the blue of the early morning. "I don't know what I feel. Love? There is no love without understanding. I don't know if understanding is possible between myself and others. It is the difference between killers and non-killers."

"No. It is the difference between willing killers and non-willing killers. Which are you, Kotomine? Forget your family for a moment, forget Tohsaka and the Grail War. Tell me of yourself."

"The former. Is that so bad?" It felt surprisingly easy, refreshing to speak with his Servant about matters such as these. Kirei hadn't spoken to anyone about these emptinesses and hollow urges, but Assassin seemed a willing listener, and seemed polite and secretive enough not to speak to anyone else about the conversation they were having. "I… I should be ashamed to say this, but _death_ , the suffering of others, makes me feel a certain way. Not happy, per se, but something more abstract than that. Satisfied, maybe."

"There's no shame in that. Many of my greatest friends were willing killers. The Doctor that I knew in particular…" Assassin seemed to shudder. "Terrifying, but he was a good man all the same. That satisfaction you feel is sadism, is it not?"

It felt strange to give a name to the guilty pleasure that Kirei had hidden inside himself, but it was refreshing all the same. Almost cathartic now that someone else knew his secret. As if the burden had been split between the two of them.

"What about you, Assassin? Are you a willing killer?"

"Kill enough and you will do so willingly. But as I said before, there is no issue with it. This War is a good outlet for such urges. Everyone involved is deserving. So long as innocents aren't killed without real meaning, a bit of sadism can be rather beneficial."

"The world says otherwise. What do you think my father would think if I told him how I truly feel? My family? My teacher? They would shy away. They would either run or hunt me down for being a monster. Sociopath is the word they use for people such as I."

"And the problem with that?"

"They will not accept me. My life only has meaning because of the people in it, but what little meaning that is…" Kirei looked up, forlorn at his Servant and found that a cigarette had been offered to him. For the first time in his life, Kirei had a smoke. Despite the heat and dirty taste and the knowledge that these little white and tan sticks would gum up his lungs with sticky tar and resin and sow the seeds of cancer in his mouth and throat; Kirei didn't care. It felt good to smoke, as if it was rebellion against society, screaming ' _Fuck you!'_ to the world in a wonderfully self-destructive gesture.

"Life has no meaning save for what you will give it, Kotomine. Life is short and unsatisfying, just like the cigarette you are smoking. It is necessary however," Assassin paused for a moment to pat Kirei on the back to help with the coughing. "It is necessary for you to find meaning regardless. Disregard everything besides what you find your meaning in. Be it the suffering of others or the betterment of humanity; it is all the same."

Kirei took careful note of Assassin's words and finished his cigarette.

* * *

As the car drove off Grenouille not only smelled the burning rubber from Irisviel's reckless driving mixing in with the effluvia of the rotting dump, but something special.

It was a moment like the first time Grenouille had smelled that girl cutting plums in the lonely Paris street… or the time he passed Richis' manor and caught scent of Laure, the most beautiful girl in the world… It was the smell of the perfume he made from the bodies of the fateful twenty-five. Love. Bottled love hidden by the smell of trash. Fish heads and fruit peels gone rancid and grease congealed into pudding. All of it rotting, all of it hiding something special…

It was early morning and there was no one else at the dump, not even a security guard or a night watchman. Grenouille sensed nothing but the filth of the garbage and splendor of whatever was hiding from him. There were gulls flying overhead; long ago the birds had been clean and white and pure but now they were blackened with greasy smoke from the periodic garbage burnings and stank like rats. They cried for the morning as they circled and dove into the heaps of trash looking for their dirty meals. Grenouille followed their example and began to wade through the bags of plastic, hot and bloated with smelly gas from the rotting trash, searching, following his nose for that special something that hid.

His mind filled like an obsession greater than finding the perfect scent or his own scent or killing the girl without scent. Instinctively he knew that whatever he was searching for had the smell of the the smell of his Bottled Love didn't compare…

A rat bit at him but Grenouille grabbed it by the throat and crushed it. He hardly noticed his own movements so caught up by the smell he was. It grew stronger, even masked by the stench of the waste of a million people his nose could pull the scent out. It was close now, he could smell that it was only a few dozen meters away, hidden under a literal mountain of filth; the result of all of society living and eating and fucking. Condoms full and huge with goopy soup that had either dried a nasty shade of whitish yellow or had given birth to fungi, mushrooms growing, feeding on the material of life; it was all protein anyway. Here where society's dregs collected and mingled was born a type of primordial ooze. Sulfurous and black and diseased it was still nutritious. If an animal could stomach the poison of the sludge, they would never die. Every step that Grenouille took caused the ripped tops of metal cans and broken shards of glass to cut through his once fine, stolen vestments. His clothes grew heavy with corrupted oil and dirty water. Grime coated his face and his eyes watered and the scent of trash and whatever miracle was hidden under grew stronger, both stronger.

Soon he reached the mountain where he sensed the source of the magic smell to lie. Another hours he spent rummaging through the trash, pushing away broken electronics and stuffed animals ripped apart by birds and rodents to make their crooked nests. A wedding ring. A photo album. A bridesmaid's dress that had been worn for one beautiful day and then tossed away. All these things that had been once loved and then tossed the moment they ceased to be useful. To clear up closet space. Grenouille could've cried at the tragedy of these _things_ had he not been so focused on the smell.

The suddenly he had it. The smell crescendoed into a wonderful thing as the trash was cleared away, Caster's stick like arms flailing away at the mountain, eroding it little at a time. Airy and dense and smooth all at once, it cut through the miasma of filth emanating from the rest of the dump. It was a spine; the vertebral column of a human being from nearly two thousand years ago, and it smelled so damned good…

* * *

Assassin produced a manila folder, full of photographs, polaroids of the various enemy Servants and Masters.

"I've been able to deduce the identities of most of the Servants and Masters, but Berserker and Caster have eluded me thus far." He took a moment to straighten the pictures, organizing the most clear shots of the Servants with their corresponding Masters.

"The Saber Class Servant is one Arturia Pendragon, mythical king, queen maybe, of Camelot. She serves under the Magus Killer, Kiritsugu Emiya."

Valentine chimed in, having met the Servant earlier, on the beach. "I fought her earlier last night while on my walk. She's rash and very forward. I would recommend a more covert approach when fighting her; I don't think I could beat her in a head on fight."

Tokiomi nodded his understanding and rubbed his chin. He didn't seem all that surprised that Saber was a woman. "I think I agree. From what you've shown me of your abilities, Archer, I think it would be wise to keep you away from extended combat until the end of the War and hope that one of the other Servants remove Saber. I would have Assassin target her Master, but Kiritsugu Emiya is a dangerous man, I wouldn't hold him above having some underhanded tactic to protect himself."

"I could have killed both him and his assistant tonight," Assassin scoffed while adjusting his tie. "But leaving Saber and Emiya around 'til the end would be wise. They are predictable."

The old priest motioned Assassin to move on, "Mister Spy, if you would. I must lead Sunday Mass in a couple hours…"

"Of course, Father." Spy brought to attention another pair of photographs. "Lancer is Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, a knight from Ireland. His Master is a Magus by the name of Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald. He and his wife are in the city, staying in a hotel. Any thoughts to as out plan of attack?"

"Archibald is a Magus. A talented Magus, but nothing special. His family crest involves him manipulating a volume of liquid metal to attack and defend. Shouldn't be a problem for any Servant." Tokiomi said. "His Servant should be fairly straightforward. A knight focused on honor and chivalry. He and Saber will likely remove each other."

"I believe Archer would be more familiar with the next pair. The Rider is Iskander the Great, King of Macedonia. A worthy opponent." The photograph showed a picture of a hulking man, red haired and musclebound. "His Master is a young boy. A magus by the name of Waver Velvet. He is nothing special, but Rider is certainly a threat.

The room turned to Valentine to see what he had to say of the enemy pair. He decided quickly not to reveal that he had struck an alliance with the two.

"I have not had the opportunity to watch either Rider or his Master in combat, but the Servant at least seems quite powerful. He is more concerned with experiencing the modern world than the Holy Grail War. He is quite a childish man at times, and I predict that they will not be involved in the War until they are forced to act."

The final picture Spy had was a one of a pale man with a head of tortured, angular metal.

"While I have not been able to locate Caster, this is a photograph of Berserker. I have no idea as to what his identity is. Maybe one of you gentlemen can shed light on this issue?" Spy asked.

Around the table glances of confusion were exchanged. A mystery then. One that would have to be solved another time. No one missed how each and every man shuddered as they looked on the picture.

"Then starting tomorrow," Tokiomi stood from the table and pointed towards Assassin, "make steps towards finding what Berserker is and identifying his Master. It is likely to be a member of one of the Main Families, so keep that in mind. Valentine, I'd like for you to keep wary while you go about your business. There's no specific role for you yet besides keeping the extent of your abilities a secret."

And that was all. The meeting was adjourned.

* * *

This was a place without magic. In the shadows of the abandoned buildings Kariya could make out strange figures moving silently; their silhouettes were the things of nightmares. Men with teeth cracked and misshapen like tombstones, eyes bulging and bloody, scratched to a shade of pale white that could only mean blindness. Their eyelids had been cut off and they could not blink. Accompanying them were men, crouched like dogs and hips warped to the point their legs could not help but step on the ground. Their features had been melted off and had slagged to unrecognizable lengths, stretched like taffy. Around their bodies they wore leather harnesses and were leashed to the blind men, leading them about as the dog-men sniffed through their oversized noseholes. Other monsters. A faceless nurse, buxom yet terrifying for she had no facial features at all. A wheelchair bound monstrosity that was three men fused at the hip. They were all dirty and bloodied and pained, these creatures; yet they showed only indifference to Kariya's presence.

In the distance, even through the dense fog, Kariya could make out the characteristic shape of his Servant. The angular head and height made it easy to pick Berserker out. Was this what they called the link between Master and Servant? Was he here in some sort of dream to relive Berserkers memories?

He decided that it was impossible, for when he stepped and stumbled on the cracked pavement and ruined road, the world was invariably affected. He kicked a stone to the side and touched the smooth, wind worn surface of a broken fountain. The angel decorating the landmark had fallen at some point and now lay cracked on the ground, broken. Moisture in the air had congealed on the cracked face and made wet trails along the angel's eyes…

"Berserker!" Kariya called. He was hoping for some reaction, for earlier he had to expend a Command Spell to get his Servant to stop the battle with Saber. "Berserker! Come here!" The Servant turned towards him, but otherwise did not move. Stock still. Hunched over and still two feet taller than Kariya was. It was strange though, here, in this strange and misty town where only monsters lived, Kariya could not feel the Crest Worms…

He jogged forward and saw that Berserker was dripping. The ever present knife was red instead of the dirty grey and silver that Kariya had known. On the ground was a girl, purple hair splayed across the floor… she had been beaten badly, but despite her frail appearance and small stature, was visibly conscious. Berserker picked her up with one brutal hand and the knife clattered to the floor. Kariya's nerves stalled and he screamed for at his Servant to stop. The Command Spell on his hand lay dead and grey and would not trigger.

Sakura was staring at him now. She could not scream with the hand strangling her neck, yet her eyes were pleading. Kariya knew this and ran forward and tried to tug the girl from Pyramid Head's grasp but everytime he pulled on her torso, the muscles in Pyramid Head's arms grew tighter and Sakura's face grew more and more blue, choked and starved of air.

" _What are you doing you fucking monster? You're my Servant, you're supposed to listen to me! Put her down!"_ Kariya screamed and scrambled for a chunk of concrete that lay on the ground, still and cold. He slammed it against Berserker's chest and heard the breaking of ribs and bruising of muscle. He did it again and again, but just as during the fight against Saber, injuries seemed to do nothing to Berserker.

The Servant looked down at him, the metal pyramid on Berserker's head shifted to stare at Kariya, the eyeless gaze was mocking and cruel and Kariya could swear that he heard laughing as the fog around them grew denser.

A hand, blunt and huge and with finger flesh melted together reached for Sakura's undeveloped chest and grabbed hold of what skin it could. Now Sakura began to scream even with her throat crushed. Hoarse noises begging for salvation. Shrieks of pain in that high pitched tone that only little girls can manage made even higher and shriller by pain. Berserker twisted and Kariya made out the intense welling of blood as Pyramid Head pulled the little girl's skin off in one piece. The body, Sakura's bloody body, naked with muscles and and devoid of skin from the neck down died of shock and blood loss and dropped to the ground with a limp thud that broke the Magus' heart. In his hand Pyramid Head now help a red mess of skin and Kariya realized that that was the material that would make the leather apron that his Servant wore…

He fell to the ground and cried.

* * *

It had been decided between Irisviel and Saber that they would not speak of Grenouille to Kiritsugu. He'd likely be furious that such an unneeded risk was taken; nevertheless, it brought Saber memories of a happier time where she could afford to laugh and giggle. Her youth had passed so quickly and she could scare remember the other little ladies of the court she had played with as a child. It was fun having a secret to share; and try as she might, Saber could not hide the fact that her time with Irisviel was enjoyable.

Kiritsugu's assistant was busy on some secret assignment that the man refused to tell them, so the three of them, Arturia, Irisviel, and Kiritsugu sat together to take lunch. Saber didn't need to eat, but the motion of eating was familiar and soothing, even if the food itself was lacking.

"What do you know of the other Servants, Saber. You fought two of them and met with two others." Kiritsugu's sandwich went untouched. Lunch was provided by Irisviel and although it didn't look very appetizing, it was a gesture of kindness. The homunculus looked nervously at the food and then at her husband, hoping that he'd at least try the food…

"Lancer and I have decided to have a duel sometime in the future. We are fairly evenly matched but I believe I will have the upper hand with Excalibur." The way that Saber sat cradling her left elbow didn't escape anyone's notice.

"How soon will you be ready to fight at full capacity then?"

Irisviel looked at her husband and then at her friend. There was a tension in the air that she did not care for. Kiritsugu looked so cold, so angry…

"My arm was injured by Lancer and then by Berserker. I don't know when…"

"Was it the yellow spear?" Kiritsugu looked deadly serious. "The yellow spear, Gae Buidhe, is said to cause injuries that can never heal."

Saber nodded tightly. "It should make no difference, I can still—"

"Lancer will be the first then. I was already planning on taking out Kayneth fairly early, but this seals the deal." The Magus Killer stood from his seat. "As long as you have that injury, you won't be enough to deal with the other Servants. Tomorrow, Maiya and I will remove him." It went unspoken that with the injury, Saber would be unable to effectively protect Irisviel.

Saber stood as well and her expression grew frosty, voice hard and tight. "Lancer and I have an agreement. We will face each other in honorable combat. What your suggesting is a violation of the promise I made with him." Master and Servant stared at each other in cold war, Irisviel caught in the middle, too scared to speak.

"This needs to be done. Your honor is secondary to victory, Saber." Kiritsugu said coldly and walked toward the door, his food untouched and atmosphere frustrated, maybe a little scared even? "For now, just make sure Iri's safe. Don't engage any of the other Servants."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Irisviel's voice was small and withdrawn. She had never liked it when Kiritsugu was angry, but she was certain that something had happened. "We could talk for a little while you eat…"

For a moment it seemed that Kiritsugu was going to turn around and rejoin the luncheon, but he hesitated for only a second before leaving.

"Be safe."

 **AN: What happened in Silent Hill was just a dream, Sakura is still alive. Just assume that nothing is playing out the way it did in Fate/Zero at this point. Ex: Rider didn't see Lancer and Saber fighting because he got there late with Valentine, Tokiomi didn't use a Command Spell to get Archer to retreat, Tokiomi and co. know that Kiritsugu is Saber's Master, etc.**

 **This character sheet will be of Funny Valentine, 23rd President of the United States of America.**

 _Funny Valentine_

Class: Archer

Master: Tokiomi Tohsaka

Alignment: Lawful Evil

Height: 190 cm

Weight: 85 kg

STR: B (A: Stand)

CON: D (A: Stand)

AGI: C (A: Stand)

MGI: B

LCK: C

Noble Phantasm: EX

 _Biography_

At a young age, Funny Valentine's father went to war and died. A soldier named Captain Valentine came to his house and revealed that his father was a hero; he was tortured terribly by the enemy and committed suicide so that he wouldn't betray his country. This story left Valentine with a strong sense of patriotism.

As a young man, Valentine joined the Army. During a routine training session, Valentine's company got lost in the desert and perished. Valentine only survived due to his discovery of a Heart, a piece of the Saint's Corpse. Having found this Heart, Valentine inferred that there must be a whole Corpse, and dedicated his life to finding it so that he could better his country.

In his adulthood, Valentine became the 23rd President of the United States and was beloved the by people for making America a prosperous nation. He helped set up the Steel Ball Run, a cross country horse race with a prize of fifty million dollars, a sum that would be more than a trillion dollars in today's money. The Steel Ball Run was actually a hidden ploy for Valentine's agents to search the country for more Corpse Parts. By the end of the run, Valentine had collected the completed Corpse but was defeated by a competitor by the name of Johnny Joestar.

He is remembered as the greatest of the American Presidents and was mourned heavily by the citizens.

 _Tactics_

Valentine is a charismatic man, and that charisma is only boosted by the Corpse Heart that he owns. He prefers to work from the shadows and make alliances so that he doesn't need to get his hands dirty unless absolutely necessary. His Stand, _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap_ , even allows him to bring in copies of himself and other individuals from other dimensions to further his distance from combat. The ability to transfer his consciousness to other bodies makes Valentine effectively immortal and thus, he is extremely confident in his abilities.

 _Class Skills_

Charisma: B (A)

Valentine was an extremely popular president; he had an approval rating of 91% at the end of his term. This charisma is boosted by the Corpse to the point where Valentine was almost capable of convincing his most hated enemy to spare him.

Independent Action: C-A

While Valentine is dependent on a Master to supply him with mana, the more Corpse Parts he collects, the longer he will be able to stay independent. Upon completion of the Corpse, he will no longer require mana from an outside source as the Corpse will be enough to sustain him.

 _Personal_

Patriotism: B

Valentine's whole life has been dedicated to furthering his country and he has a fully clear conscious because of his belief that love for the country is the purest form of love possible. He feels no guilt towards his actions and can resist most attempts to make him stray from his goals.

Magical Resistance: D

Valentine had no experience with mage craft during his life, but because he is one of the Knight Classes, he can resist low level thaumaturgy.

 _Noble Phantasm_

 _The Stand:_ Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap (D4C): A

Unlocked by the Corpse Heart, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap was Valentine's Stand. Now it is his Noble Phantasm. It has the ability to traverse dimensions by pressing things between two objects. For example, when Valentine was run over by a train, by placing himself between train wheel and train track, he jumped into a different dimension to escape injury.

By escaping to a different dimension, Valentine can transfer D4C to the Valentine of that dimension, giving his memories and experiences in the process. Because all Funny Valentine's have the same personality even if Valentine dies, the next one to take his place will be indistinguishable from his predecessor.

D4C's ability allows Valentine to bring in copies individuals or objects from other dimensions. This ability is particularly dangerous because when two identical objects or individuals meet, they destroy each other due to a paradox of existence. Valentine is immune to this effect because of D4C.

 _The Saint Corpse's_ Love Train: EX

Once the Holy Corpse is completed, Valentine will gain access to _Love Train._ This is the manifestation of the Corpse's full power: the ability to direct misfortune elsewhere. It is a flat plane of space that is actually the space between two dimensions. If any misfortune were to fall on Valentine while he is in Love Train, it would be directed elsewhere in the world. For example, a gunshot aim towards Valentine would instead befall on a random target.

Love Train also enhances Valentine's own fortune. Any damage that he is able to inflict becomes a fatal wound. A small cut on the hand may move to the victim's heart or brain to kill them. These movements also manifest in the environment, the world shifts to better suit Valentine's desires and are attracted to him, continuously moving closer.


	4. Cookin' with gas

Kariya opened his eyes and watched his Servant staring down on him. There was an almost happy atmosphere emanating from the normally frothing Pyramid Head, the closest thing to a 'good mood' the Servant had ever shown; but Kariya could only muster anger. The dream that he had just woken from… the broken, lonely town drowned in mist and bad feelings. A fire had raged underneath the pavement. Heat had cracked the concrete ground and boiled the tar roads. A coal mine could burn for generations, maybe even forever if there was enough fuel.

"Touch Sakura," he hissed. "Touch her, and I'll kill you. Whatever you might be, I swear to God that I'll find a way to kill you if you hurt her." He felt protective love for the girl who was not his daughter. That perfect, innocent child who had been defiled in the worst ways… tortured constantly. It seemed that even in Kariya's dreams Sakura could not escape death.

The Crest Worms in his skin were strangely silent. Anger and discomfort had caused the worms to squirm painfully in the past, but even in his dream addled rage, they did not move; Kariya felt no pain from them.

"What the Hell was that even? I read the fucking book," Kariya's words were swords and they were meant to cut. He didn't swear often, but his dream had caused him quite a bit of panic. "It said that you're some kind hallucination that people have. Mass hysteria. Collective obsessional disorder. People all across the world have nightmares about you… so are you some kind of bogeyman? Why would you," as Kariya got to his feet his voice rose in volume to match, "why were you summoned? What do you want? This fucking Grail War, I summoned you because you fit me the best or something— I'm not good with that mystical bullshit— so why, why the silence? Don't you want to help me? Don't you want to win?"

Berserker said nothing but the silence shifted. Before this dream, Kariya hadn't been able to understand a single motion or action from his Servant, but now a strange form of communication had been forged between the two. It was the relationship between butcher and cow, executioner and damned. Pyramid Head held the knife and Kariya was the sentenced. There was understanding between the killer and the one who would die.

 _shame guilt punish death later you too_ , a stream of words babbled through Kariya's mind and he knew instantly that these were Berserker's thoughts being foisted into his mind. Unintelligent it may have been, the gist was clear, perhaps only because of the nightmare Kariya had experienced. Shame and guilt would be punished with death. Kariya's time would come…

"It can't just be me you're here to punish. You'd have killed me already. Who else?" Kariya asked, his anger was spent, and he felt tired, so tired, even though he had just woken up. It was nearly noon. He had slept for over twelve hours… "Why are you here, Pyramid Head?"

 _others_

* * *

It had started because Rider had said something along the lines of 'experiencing the new world'; that the Servants, hundreds of years removed from their own lives, owed it to themselves and to the progress of the human race to try the new inventions and innovations that seemed to be a kind of magic in themselves. And Valentine had to admit, he was quite curious to drive an automobile or use a computer. Money wasn't a problem. Valentine simply accosted a man in the street, killed him, and hid the body away with D4C.

He didn't want to stoop so low as to ask his Master for spending money, as rich as Tokiomi might have been. It would be humiliating for the President of the United States to ask for an allowance as a child might from a parent...

Still, armed with a thin stack of bills and multiple credit cards under the name of 'Daisuke Samanco' Valentine made his way through the shopping district, picking up clothes in styles that he hadn't been around to see, sampling foods from countries that hadn't existed in 1890. It was a waste of time, but oddly satisfying. His trip to the cinema had been particularly fascinating, the moving photographs that were displayed on the screen had been in color! And somehow more incredible than that was the fact that the movie was in _English_. ' _Forrest Gump'_ , it had been titled. A heartwarming tale of a young soldier who experienced much of American history first hand… The scene in Washington D.C had moved Valentine greatly. The new monuments that had been erected, all those people, degenerate hippies they may have been, had come together in a brilliant moment of collective expression. It was as if the American spirit of protest and conscientiousness had been set aflame by a war that Valentine did not fully comprehend. He was happy and proud of his country, such a beautiful feeling… the purest of all loves.

So when Valentine and Saber caught sight of each other, the President felt no need to fight or hide. He was seated outdoors, behind the short wrought-iron fencing of a quaint cafe he had found. Around him were only a few bags. The bulk of his purchases, things he didn't feel like looking through at the moment, had been sent home with a Valentine from another dimension. He had traded his old outfit of pink overcoat and body suit for a grey bespoke suit from Brioni, with a complementary red tie. He looked stately, handsome even, according to the doe eyed girl who had taken his measurements back at the tailors.

"Saber."

"Archer."

Their tones were cool and tempered. Valentine did not forget that Saber had attempted to kill him just the night before, but in a place with so many witnesses, any sort of combat would be impossible without alerting the non-magicals to the War. Even Saber seemed to have forgone her armor for a plain black suit.

"Why don't the two of you join me?" Valentine stood and moved two seats more seat to the small table he occupied. It was a small gesture of good faith on his part, a subtle action that signalled that he had forgiven Saber for her attack on his person. "It is quickly growing dark, and a meal wouldn't go amiss by any of us."

"I don't trust you."

"Small courtesies, Arturia," Valentine used Saber's true name to try and unnerve her, "in this War we can only afford small courtesies. Trust that the food is not poisoned as I trust you not to strike me down; we all know that Saber outmatches Archer at close range."

The two women whispered to one another for a moment before drawing closer and coming into the cafe through a small gate in the wrought-iron fence. Saber looked none to pleased, but the other one was smiling.

"I gave you my name yesterday, and I already know yours, King of Knights. What then, should I call your companion?" Spy had given him the name of Saber's true Master, the Magus Killer, but not of the red eyed girl who seemed attached at the hip to the swordswoman.

"Irisviel von Einzbern," the woman introduced herself, "pleased to meet you." She extended a hand that Valentine took and shook, ignoring Saber's baleful gaze. "I can't say I know much about you, Mister Valentine. Could you tell me about yourself, or rather about the _Steel Ball Run_?"

Ah, so information was what they wanted… A rather amateurish attempt at information gathering, but an attempt nonetheless. Valentine decided to humor the woman, if only to keep up appearances. He was certain that no matter what he said or did, neither Irisviel or Arturia would be able to discover the secret of _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap_. It had taken that genius horse jockey, Diego Brando, ages to figure it out, and the lizardman was in a class of his own.

But on the other hand, the woman seemed genuinely interested in that legendary horse race. Valentine knew from his readings that various organizations had tried to emulate the race or cast it as a yearly event, but each attempt at recapturing the glory of the original Steel Ball Run was met with failure. It was understandable, natural even for people to be drawn to the race, and Valentine saw no issue with telling a few stories from his past; he would of course, censor all references to the Corpse and to the existence of Stands…

"I think, that the latter topic is more suitable for a dinner conversation. My life was largely uneventful," Valentine gave a charming smile and signalled a waiter to come take their orders. "Here's a story then… One of the competitors in the race ran the whole length barefoot. Did you know that?"

Both women shared looks of disbelief before turning back to Valentine.

"But that's impossible! The Steel Ball Run was over six thousand kilometers! The competitors were on horseback, and they traveled upwards of fifty to sixty kilometers a day! A human being would have no chance in a race like that."

"And yet it happened. The competitor was only known as 'Sandman'. He was an Indian, a Native American, I believe is the term used today. His technique of running allowed him to be incredibly efficient with his energy, and even though he was slower than the horses, he was a man and therefore able to move through obstacles that the horses had to either circumvent or slog through. He even took first place in one of the stages."

Valentine's own memories of Sandman were murky, he hadn't paid much attention when hiring the Indian and Diego Brando to kill the Joestar and Zeppeli who had found some of the Corpse Parts, but he understood the basic premise of why the man was competing.

"He ran the race to save his tribe." It was an admirable goal. The Native American's had never been a part of America, instead they had their own little nations, mere hovels compared to the majesty of the United States, but Valentine had respected that Sandman fight for his counties continued survival. It was a form of patriotism, after all. "You could almost compare the Steel Ball Run to the Holy Grail War that we fight today." Valentine's smile grew wider as his enthusiastic listener bobbed her head up and down. "A grueling challenge with only one winner, and that winner would win fifty million United States Dollars… in today's terms that would be well over a trillion. Wouldn't that be enough to make any wish come true?"

"I suppose it would be. You might even be able to buy a country with that much," Irisviel snickered while looking at Saber. "Sorry, that might've been tasteless…"

"What do you mean by that?" Arturia asked, eyebrow quirked upwards.

The waiter brought several trays of food. A grilled rabbit with herb crusted french fries for Valentine, a sea urchin ceviche for Saber, and a swordfish meatloaf for Irisviel. The food was, for the most part enjoyable, if a bit strange. The three took a moment to sample their meals before Saber put down her fork and looked up from her plate to ask again: "What did you mean by 'buy a country' Irisviel? You can't actually buy a nation, can you?"

Irisviel looked at the floor with great interest and Valentine chuckled.

"You can. It's been done before, just a couple decades ago in fact."

The rabbits were delicious but difficult to eat, too many small bones that splintered with force was applied.

"The thought of that is offensive to me. A nation should have their sovereignty vested in a worthy leader, not the richest bidder."

"And yet Saxton Hale purchased the country of England. He's dead now of course, but—" A glass fell to the floor and shattered.

Saber seemed to be in shock. Her hands trembled as their gripped the table, ripping the cloth and bending the metal grating that the table consisted of. Her face was red and her breaths were coming fast and angry.

"What sort of insult is this? You would mock me like this, Valentine? You were a leader of your own country, don't tell me that you find this a laughable matter." Arturia looked toward Irisviel now. "Tell me it isn't true Iri. Tell me that someone didn't actually buy England…"

"Yeah… they sort of did…" Irisviel said awkwardly.

Saber let out a low moan of depression. How could England, her beloved country, simply be bought? She had given _everything_ for her country. She had given up her emotions, her humanity, to protect the soft green hills of that emerald land. Battles where she had to order innocents killed to save the country. All that sacrifice and pain, all those quiet nights of self-hate and guilt that she couldn't share with anyone; for who could understand the pain of the King? Arturia had been the person on the altar everyday, bleeding and giving up herself to the forces who sought to destroy her kingdom, and now, the country that she had lived and died for, the country she had loved and honored, had been sold to some strange man with no more fuss than if the man had been buying a meal or snack…

"If it's any consolation, Saber, the man who bought England has long since passed."

"What's happened to England, Valentine? What happened after the man bought it?"

Valentine motioned the waiter over to take his plate away, he had no desire to eat anymore. For a moment he thought about lying to the girl to spare her feeling, but remembered that the blonde sitting across from him was a Servant. She was the legendary King Arthur, and he owed her the truth at least.

"During the Industrial Revolution, Britain saw itself transformed as the country built factories and mills to fuel their industries. Hale did the same thing; remember that he owned a company called Mann Co., one of the largest in the world. Most of the country I believe is now factory dedicated to building wares."

Saber cradled her head in her hands and Valentine heard a noise that might've been a sob. It truly was a sad thing, that one man had been able to buy a country. But even worse was _how_ the man had done it. From what Valentine had read and heard from Spy, Saxton Hale had made the offer to the British Parliament to buy the country for a total of fifty trillion dollars. The transaction had only taken place because Parliament had put the question to the people in form of referendum, and Hale had promised every citizen a huge sum of money, and a share in Mann Co.. The referendum had been close, but in the end the citizenry had chosen to surrender their country to the business man.

"And the monarchy?" Arturia's voice was muffled under behind her hands.

"Moved to Canada, I believe." Irisviel added quietly.

Valentine paid the check and the three of them left the cafe, Irisviel with her arms around Saber's shoulders whispering soothing words.

"Thank you for the meal, Mister Valentine. I've never really been to a restaurant with someone other than Saber. The food was very good." Something about Irisviel, an abstract, mystical quality, perhaps the innocence, reminded Valentine of Lucy Steel.

"It was my pleasure."

As Valentine turned to leave, Saber's voice came calling after him.

"Valentine," she said, voice still shaky with embarrassment, "what's your goal here? How does allying yourself with Rider then treating me, your enemy, as a friend help you?"

His steps faltered for a moment as Valentine tried to think of an answer. Companionship? Was that why he had decided to invite Arturia and the Einzbern to dinner? He had been feeling quite magnanimous earlier; a result of his good mood, but there really was no reason to invite potential enemies to dine without an ulterior motive. Had he been getting too complacent recently? Valentine knew that even he wasn't immune from the effects of hubris; all men were susceptible. The lack of actual combat and enemies who could pose a real threat, that had caused Valentine to get careless. And that carelessness was what had allowed Johnny Joestar and Gyro Zeppeli to defeat him at the close of the Steel Ball Run. Valentine had, in his pride, refused to see them as legitimate threats; even Diego Brando had been seen as a minor nuisance until the train ride, and that had very nearly gotten Valentine killed.

And now here it was again. Pride rearing it's ugly head. Valentine did not see Saber to be a true threat. Even without knowing the full extent of the King of Knights' abilities as a Servant, he had immediately placed her lower than himself. But the past had proven that pride was Valentine's downfall…

"I will tell you what I told Rider." Valentine turned back around to face Irisviel and Arturia. "My goals are not directly tied to the Holy Grail, they can be accomplished otherwise. That is why I've allied myself with Iskander. Should he and I be the last Servants standing, we will forgo a battle and I will allow him to win, for his dream is only achievable through the Grail. The agreement is that should that come to pass, he will assist me in achieving my goal. That is the extent of our alliance. There is no subservience or deference involved. Iskander and I have come to the mutual understanding that our goals can both be met through honorable cooperation."

Archer struck a pose, one hand brushing back his long, golden hair and the other pointing straight forward at Saber. A corona of light seemed to emanate from him, shades of red, white, and blue in ever shifting grandeur.

"Can you sincerely say that you alone will be enough to defeat the other Servants? I caught a bit of the battle between that geometric nightmare, Berserker, and yourself when Rider and I arrived on that beach. No single Servant can defeat that brute. And speaking of the other Servants! Lancer, I don't know enough of him to make a judgement, but the name of Diarmuid Ua Duibhne should strike at least some worry in your heart; he is a fearsome warrior. Caster, who I think I am correct in saying, has managed to hide himself from the rest of us, even now when the rest of us have been revealed. What could a spellcaster worthy of being summoned into our War be planning with all that spare time and secrecy? As for Rider and myself, you have proven that I cannot be killed by normal methods. Rider was quite possibly the greatest warrior ever to live. Only Assassin is defeated—"

Valentine seemed to be ready to monologue further when Saber's cough caught him off guard. Of course Assassin, or Spy, as Valentine knew him, was not actually removed from the War, but Saber must have gotten the news by now, no matter how fake it was.

"Assassin has not been defeated, Archer." Saber said seriously. "An ally of mine was assaulted by the man just the other night. Don't fall for his treacherous ways." The warning was thoughtful, but unneeded. The Frenchman was, after all, Valentine's ally in the war, and he had been the one to help fake Spy's death.

"Well there you have it. Assassin is a puzzle, wrapped in an enigma, shrouded by riddles, and sprinkled with mystery. He is the one who can strike where we are most vulnerable: our Masters and our human allies." Valentine gave a pointed look at Irisviel who shuddered at the thought of the shadowy Spy. "The whole purpose of a Servant is that each one of us can defeat one another, be it through honorable combat, careful alliance making, or through subterfuge. You being rated higher in combat does not necessarily mean that you will be able to defeat even Caster, who is seen as the weakest."

Arturia seemed to have taken his words to heart. Her earlier displeasure over hearing that England had been purchased had faded and her face was brighter and colder.

"I understand." She seemed somber in a way, and although Valentine had originally scoffed at her due to her gender and stature; she had a certain presence that forced his respect. She was no child to be ignored or shafted aside, as Valentine had presumed. That somber, solemn expression that invoked a strange sort of awe, even in Valentine's normally unflinching heart of hearts. Truly, Arturia lived up to her moniker as King of Knights.

"I refused you the first time, Archer. But now I will extend my own invitation. Will you ally yourself with me for the duration of this War? I will not ask for you to sever ties with Rider, for that would besmirch your honor, but until a time perhaps when you and I and Rider are the only Servants remaining… we could be allies."

Irisviel looked as if she was about to speak but her expression turned to a tentative smile. Kiritsugu would probably disapprove of Saber going out and making alliances on her own accord, but the red eyed homunculus thought it was prudent. What Archer had said about the other Servants was correct. Even if Saber was considered the strongest Servant class, there was no telling what the others were capable of. Kiritsugu had only seen the battle between Saber and Lancer and then Saber and Berserker, from a distance. Loathe as Irisviel was to criticize her husband, Kiritsugu really couldn't have understood what it was like to walk the same earth as the legendary Servants until he was present for a battle in person. Only then would he _understand_ the risk instead of simply knowing of it.

"I must warn you that my Master is unaware of my dealings with the other Servants. For now he has simply ordered me to stay removed from combat. As I don't think it would be wise to alert him of our alliance, assume that he will see you as an enemy." Valentine said. "I will assume that Lady Einzbern gives her tacit permission as she has made no attempts to stop our negotiation, but what of your Master, Saber?"

Arturia shook her head. "I'm afraid he and I don't see eye to eye on matters such as these. He may be my Master, but my loyalty is to Irisviel. I defer to her and only her," she gave a puzzled stare toward Valentine, how had he known that Irisviel wasn't her Master? They hadn't said anything of the sort, and surely Valentine couldn't have known of Kiritsugu's involvement in the War. The only Servant to have seen her true Master was Assassin, and Valentine revealed that he didn't know of Assassin's continued existence before being corrected… it was strange, but Saber choose not to pursue that line of thought any further.

"Will it be okay if we keep this from Kiritsugu, Irisviel?"

The homunculus nodded, sending her white fur ushanka bobbing up and down.

"I'm sure things will work out for the best. I personally think it's good to have allies in the War."

With Irisviel's consent, the newly bound trio exchanged their goodbyes and went their separate ways into the creeping evening.

* * *

Dusk now and Grenouille's hands were covered in fragrant grease. Using a flat bladed knife and his hand, Caster scooped fistfuls of animal fat into a small copper pot that sat on an open fire. He was quite happy with his new laboratory for his ability as a Servant allowed him to create all sorts of necessary equipments with his magic alone. Shelves stocked to the ceiling, full of small glass containers holding essential oils: the souls of flower petals and the shavings of animals. He had been working frantically ever since he had come back from his ill fated expedition where he had been foiled by the scentless girl. Next to him was the Spine he had found, sitting on the table. Caster did not quite know what to do with the exceptional artifact, but somehow having it nearby made him feel stronger, more capable; even his sense of smell, impossibly accurate as it already was, felt enhanced by the Spine.

Uryuu had found this beach house on a secluded stretch of sand overlooking the ocean, far, far removed from the main city. It was a hassle for Caster to constantly travel to and from the city, especially while hauling the bodies of his victims to be made into perfume; but he figured that with the equipment he was able to conjure with his magic, bringing the bodies to the house would yield much more product.

The house was large and spacious, all the furnishings modern, and there were no neighbors. Uryuu had disposed of the owners, a vacationing couple from the United States, and was outside at the moment burying the remains deep in the sand; the house was theirs now. Uryuu and Grenouille, partners in crime, living a life of luxury overlooking the grey early-autumn waves of the ocean. It was quite cold, especially so close to the waterfront. The wind blew clouds of gritty sand and salt spray that at night grew so loud it sounded as if monsters were banging on the shutters and clawing at the windows.

The lard from the first girl was bubbling now, slow glutinous noises were sounding as the mixture turned frothy and the fat melted into soup. Every now and then Grenouille took a wooden spoon and skimmed the top layer of the boiling fat. As it smoked and the moisture evaporated, it would concentrate and Caster would then be able to begin the long, arduous process of straining, reboiling, restraining, and reboiling again to purify the oil into _essence absolue_. That was the main issue with Grenouille's old method of stealing the scent from his victims; it took too long. A full twelve to twenty hours was required to yield a product worthy of his _Bottled Love_ , longer depending how much fat was used. The easiest way would be to bring the bodies here, to the beach house. Here Grenouille could take the bodies and stuff them into huge oaken casks filled with clean animal fat. With a heavy weight applied to the lid, the natural force of gravity would eventually squeeze out the purest form of scent out of the tapped bottom of the cask. It was a new method of extracting scent that Grenouille had thought of all on his own, and he couldn't wait to try it. All that he needed was a body now…

The front door opened and closed. And by the scent that just entered, Grenouille knew it to be Uryuu. In fact, for nearly ten kilometers in all directions, Grenouille could sense that he and his Master were the only human beings. The orange haired murderer walked into the kitchen-turned-perfumery with a grin on his face and pulled off a pair of elbow length rubber gloves, stained red and black by thick clots of blood, and threw them into the garbage can.

"I finished burying everything like you wanted, Caster. What're you up to now?" Uryuu hunched over Grenouille's shoulder trying to get a look at what the Servant was working at. "More perfumes? What for?"

"I don't know. These are just the normal perfumes so that people don't pay attention to you. It's just…" Grenouille trailed off to stare at the Spine that rested next to him. Every heart beat seemed to fill his body with power and purpose. "I feel good today. And," he quickly handed his Master a ladle, "I have something you can help with. Just skim the top of the pot every so often, all the trailings you can put in the garbage."

Uryuu looked dismayed at having been given such a pedestrian task, but merely frowned and sat next to his Servant. "Uh, so this is the fat we got from the girl earlier? You're going to make perfume out of this?"

"Not until we have twenty-four more. I screwed up yesterday bringing home a girl, so I'll probably go out again tonight." He finished the perfume for concealment and capped the glass flacon and swirled the mixture lightly. "This is for you, Master. Use it when you need to." Grenouille made to pass the perfume over to Uryuu but the latter simply looked confused.

"You're not holding anything."

Now Caster was the one to be confused. It was right there! A glass flacon of perfume, light brown and glinting with light!

"I most definitely am holding something." To prove it, Grenouille shook the bottle to hear the contents audibly gurgling about. "Can't you hear that? It is literally in my hand." The two were staring at each other now, both genuinely confused.

"You okay?" Uryuu reached over and made to grab the flacon, but to Grenouille's surprise, his Master's hand simply went through the space that the flacon and perfume was occupying as if it were empty. "See? Nothing there. You sure you're okay? You might be a demon, but I'm sure it isn't normal for demons to be seeing stuff…"

And yet, in Grenouille's trembling hand, the perfume was there in clear sight. He could touch it and unstopper the cap, take great heaving whiffs of the stuff. Even if his eyes had betrayed him, Grenouille knew that his nose would not. The perfume existed. It smelled just as he wanted it to have smelled, utterly unchanged from the original formulation that he and Uryuu had used to sneak into buildings. Then why couldn't the other man see or touch or even hear it?

His gaze turned to the Spine…

Slightly frightened and wholly excited, Caster uncorked the flacon and brought it near a cloth where he had wiped his hands earlier.

"Uryuu, make sure you're watching this."

"Okay…"

Grenouille tipped the flacon over the cloth and watched as a small drop of amber liquid tumbled out the neck of the bottle, falling, falling, falling until it finally rested on the oil slicked cloth. From his perspective nothing had changed, but for Uryuu…

"You! You just made that thing disappear!" Grenouille's Master stood up abruptly and pointed shakily at the cloth. "It's gone now! That dirty rag was just there!" There it was. There was no faking that surprise, _something_ had changed, and Grenouille knew just what caused it.

It was the Spine; it _had_ to be the Spine. There was no other explanation, that column of bone he found had unlocked something… a latent power that Grenouille had unknowingly hid all his life, something even greater than his sense of smell. His perfume had evolved into a realm beyond that of scent. This was the power over the mechanism by which people perceived reality. Not only was the flacon and cloth invisible, but intangible as well. Uryuu, try as he might, would never be able to touch the dirty cloth, even as it was perfectly normal in Grenouille's perspective. A paradox of existence caused by a drop of perfume. A sort of Schrodinger's Cloth. It both existed and did not exist at the same time.

A sudden rush of blood to his head caused him to reel for a moment. A hefty load of adrenaline born from excitement had ridden the highway of blood vessel straight to brain and heart and lung, causing him to swoon and heave and shake all at once. Euphoria on such a scale that he could only compare it to catching scent of the plum cutting girl, or completing his _Bottled Love_ and for a timeless moment standing as God of the world.

"Make sure that fat doesn't burn, Uryuu." Grenouille composed himself and turned back to his ingredients, mind racing with childish excitement to see what he could make next. If a perfume for inconspicuousness could cause a rag to disappear from a person's perception, then what else could Grenouille do with this new found power?

He stroked the Spine lightly and gave a sincere smile. He would go out that night and test the limits of his new capabilities.

 **AN: If you're at all familiar with TF2, the character Saxton Hale literally bought England. Always wanted to see how Saber would deal with that fact.**

 **Expanding on Valentine's motivations and why he's so willing to make nice with the other Servant. His ultimate goal is the Holy Corpse, he doesn't care about the Grail so long as he can collect his Corpse Parts. Of course winning the War means he can just wish for the Corpse Parts to be given to him, but Valentine has shown way more foresight than that. He's thinking about the long term, allying with Iskander and Arturia makes the War easier on him, and he also gets allies after the War.**

 **Grenouille probably seems a bit out of character if you're familiar with Perfume, but I think he and Uryuu have a lot in common seeing as they are both serial killers. This would be the first time that Caster is actually making a friend so I think his personality would be a lot more sociable at least around Uryuu.**

 **In Jojo's Bizarre Adventures it was shown that coming in contact with a Corpse Part can potentially unlock a person's Stand. Since Grenouille found the Spine, his Stand was unlocked and will be explained here. Think of it as another Noble Phantasm that Grenouille has.**

 **[That Smell]** (From the Lynyrd Skynyrd song 'That Smell')

Destructive Power: E

Speed: E

Range: B

Durability: E

Precision: D

Developmental potential: A

 _That Smell_ is a Stand that is bound to Grenouille's body. Its power lies in the fact that all of Grenouille's perfumes are greatly enhanced, they smell so realistic that the mind perceives it as reality. The key part to _That Smell_ is the alteration of reality. One of Grenouille's first perfumes made from a living organism was a puppy he had killed. If he were to pour that perfume on someone, _That Smell_ would turn the victim into a puppy. The victim becomes so convinced that they are a dog because of the smell of the perfume, and for so long as the smell of the perfume is there, _That Smell_ will turn the victim into a dog, and they will believe that they are a dog.

Grenouille is immune to his own stand because his nose cannot be fooled.

 **Character page for Pyramid Head**

 _Pyramid Head_

Class: Berserker

Master: Kariya Matou

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Height: 240 cm

Weight: 140 kg

STR: A (+)

CON: A (+)

AGI: A (+)

MGI: C

LCK: C

Noble Phantasm: EX

 _Biography_

Pyramid Head has been around for as long as human beings have done wrong. He is a manifestation of the emotion of guilt, more specifically he comes to punish people who feel guilty, but haven't been punished for their crimes. The guilty secretly _want_ to be punished because they know they've done wrong. Their emotions of guilt bring Pyramid Head to them, and the guilty are punished accordingly.

It could be more accurately said that Pyramid Head would be more along the lines of Avenger rather than Berserker because he exists to punish wrongdoers.

 _Tactics_

Pyramid Head is only motivated on getting revenge and punishing those who feel guilty. He can tank any injury and will eventually surpass any obstacle to get his revenge. His tactics consist of chase and kill.

 _Class Skills_

Mad Enhancement: A

Pyramid Head has never shown much foresight or ability to think, so he is largely unchanged by Mad Enhancement. Nevertheless, his parameters are enhanced.

Independent Action: A

For the most part, Pyramid Head feeds off of human emotion rather than mana. This is a great benefit for Kariya as Pyramid Head won't agitate the Crest Worms whenever he fights. At the same time, Pyramid Head can only be ordered by the Command Spell so is a very unpredictable Servant.

 _Personal_

Merciless: A

Pyramid Head cannot be reasoned with or convinced to show mercy. He will always be dedicated to his task of killing the guilty no matter what. Even high level magic or persuasion can't dissuade him from his task.

Indefatigable: A

Pyramid Head feels no pain from any injury and really doesn't care about what happens to himself. As a Servant, all his injuries will eventually heal, but Pyramid Head can work through any injury and fight to full capacity no matter what.

 _Noble Phantasm_

The Town of Silent Hill: EX

A twisted Reality Marble under Pyramid Head's control. After multiple encounters with the same enemy, Pyramid Head can bring in his opponent to the Town of Silent Hill where other Noble Phantasms and magic cannot be used. Here Pyramid Head's opponent must face their personal demons and defeat Pyramid Head to get free. Time in The Town of Silent Hill does not pass as it does in the actual world, a second in the real world could be days in the Town.

Pyramid Head can only be defeated while in this world.


	5. Can you smell what the Rock is cooking?

**AN: Thanks to the anonymous reviewer who encouraged me to keep writing. It means much.**

 **There's a rape scene in this chapter. It's fairly graphic so I'll put a warning in case you want to skip it.**

Grenouille was in a good mood. Not only had he made huge advances in the ancient art of perfumery, but his Master had introduced a most marvelous invention: the spray bottle. They had found several of these plastic miracles in a closet of the beach house along with all types of chemicals and cleaning products that Caster had never seen before. These new compounds had been incorporated into his perfumes, and had bottled into the spritzers.

He had three of the sprays with him at the moment, each one holding a little less than half a gallon of perfume, each one enough to last decades. The bottles were a blank, boring yellowish plastic and virtually indistinguishable, but that didn't matter. Caster could tell the bottles apart by scent. In one he had bottled the scent of fire. A mixture of bleach and melted sulfur of the highest purity, wood ashes and the black, burnt crusts of cooked meats. The next was his ever present perfume of hiding, and in the final nondescript bottle was a black mass of crushed ants dissolving in a soup of chlorine and alcohol. Today would be the night to test his new perfumes, to test his new method of delivery, and perhaps to kill that scentless girl...

In the height of evening, on a cloudy autumn night, quite chilly as the breeze blew, Grenouille sat atop one of those tall business building with his feet dangling off the ledge. Across from him was an even taller building, this one a hotel bearing the name of 'Hyatt', vomiting a flood of confused tourists and professionals. From what Caster could make out, they had been evacuated due to a terrorist threat of some sort. The stink of terror and sweat rose from the crowd like a noxious gas and Grenouille savored it, knowing that at his command it would grow even stronger.

He stood, excited and flushed, and waved his arms about as if he was conducting an orchestra of some sort; a symphony of smell instead of noise. With a flourish and a extravagant bow he reached to his belt and pulled the first bottle free. Four. Five. Six times he pulled the trigger releasing misty clouds of perfume into the air, falling, falling, falling slowly, spreading in the wind and spiraling upwards then downwards until finally…

The people below began to scream and dance about. They were burning, the droplets of perfume that had fallen on them had turned into _burning_. Not through mundane fire in the way that human beings know it, but a sort of epistemological, metaphysical burn. Grenouille, with his preternatural sense of smell, knew the perfume to be perfume; but the human torches below had only their faith. They _believed_ the perfume, the fire made scent, and they could know it as nothing but the burning flames of perdition. Instead of oxygen, it was the collective belief of the crowd that was the fuel for the fire. So convinced they were of their deaths, men and women began to char and blacken in the intense heat of the flames that were not really there.

The asphalt began to boil and the yellow road paint twisted and warped into the thick, oozing tar. Glass storefronts and car windows began to droop. Floating on this most callous ocean breeze, the perfume wafted into the minds of the evacuees and they believed themselves to be in Hell. Men and women thought they were burning to death so they did. Then, in the background, the hotel blew up and Grenouille saw that it was good.

He decided then and he would go and hunt for the scentless one.

* * *

Somehow, the scent of cleaning products and sulfur were overpowering the stench of burning flesh and melting rubber. There were rainbow clouds of paint, metallic dust, and fervent clouds of embers rising from the crowd-turned-funeral pyre in spiralling patterns brought on by the convection of the air. It was a nauseating mixture, but Kiritsugu couldn't afford to vomit now.

He hadn't planned on the intervention of a third party; almost certainly the Servant Caster, if the magical fire was anything to go by. There wasn't supposed to be any victims; only Kayneth and his Servant were meant to be caught in the explosion, but it seemed that their warning the civilians had only led them to another end. Kiritsugu had seen the remnants of a hundred battlefields and yet none were so terrible a sight as this.

' _God, the fire!'_ He screamed to himself as right in front of him, a body, rolling on the ground, screaming for help and hair burning like hot wires, shuddered and ceased to thrash. Almost certainly dead. ' _Fire, the worst way to die.'_ So hot that the ground caught aflame, cars were bursting as the heat got to their fuel tanks, bits of heated metal and concrete shrapnel killed any who weren't already burning to death. And it would not stop. Even after the bodies were eaten through and there was nothing left but ash, the fire would spread to the earth below the ground, even the ashes would burn. The road, now mainly a liquid, bubbled away and the Magus Killer looked on in horror as the bald concrete and sand underneath the blacktop was revealed only for that too to begin to burn.

Hand shaking, he pulled out his phone and began to dial, then redial as his shaking hands, greasy with human fat and soot smeared the screen and slipped to press the wrong keys. He dropped the phone and cursed. He had meant to call… someone, he couldn't think straight and decided to leave.

* * *

"That's disgusting." Kirei grimaced as he watched his Servant take another drink of his wine. A burnt up cigarette butt floated in the red drink like a buoy.

"It builds character," Spy sounded amused as he took an additional swig of the foul brew and caught Kirei's expression. "I didn't think you'd be one to care so much about tastes, Master." Spy put the half empty glass on the table, and in a familiar movement, produced a manila folder, obviously full of more information.

"There's a difference between…" Kirei's voice trailed and halted for a moment before he continued. "What is this?"

"Corpses."

"Yes, but why are they so pertinent?"

Spy stood and played with his knife. Strangely, there was an expression of nostalgia and distaste on his strangely expressive, masked face.

"Caster burned a hundred fourteen people alive tonight. These are the police photographs that I managed to _find._ " The smell of burning had been everywhere that night, but Spy found it almost enjoyable. In his past life, the one dubbed 'Pyro' had been similarly inclined to acts of arson. Yes… Pyro might have been insane, but weren't they all? Killers all of them, Pyro had just preferred to do it with flames…

"This may jeopardize the War." Kirei looked wholly unconcerned about the matter, and passed the folder and its pictures back to Spy. "Have you informed my father?"

"His orders were that the War be put on hold until Caster was removed. The one to end the magician will get an additional Command Spell."

Kirei said nothing.

"How do you feel about this? One hundred fourteen people burned or melted or fused with the pavement. I was there and with every breath, you could feel the ashes tickling your throat… ashes that used to be human. What will be _our_ course of action?"

"Earlier when we spoke, you said it was alright to find pleasure in the suffering of others. Why would you say something like that? It goes against every conventional wisdom taught to us, every moral standard put in place by society."

" _You,_ " Spy pointed at Kirei with his knife, not in anger but in amusement. "You go against every conventional wisdom. I have spent my life as a _spy_. It is my business to know things that should not be known. The first time I laid eyes on you, I realized that you do not care, that your life is a lie and the people around you simply nuisances or sources of entertainment when they suffer. Don't evade the question, and do not lie. How do you feel, and _what will we do._ "

Speaking his true mind was unfamiliar, so Kirei spoke with a slight falter. "I… I am happy."

"That those innocents burnt to death?"

Kirei spoke more confidently now, as if speaking aloud would confirm his innermost thoughts. "Yes. I am happy that the died. That they suffered."

"Good. Honesty is good. And now?" Spy's voice rose and the Priest's followed.

"We win this War."

* * *

"You." There was much vehemence to Saber's voice. It cut through the night fog, sharper than any sword. In the distance was a familiar figure. Short, still taller than Saber, but unlike before, the man stood straight, instead of being stooped over. "You're Caster? The boy from that car ride?"

An almost imperceptible nod of the head came. And Saber readied her sword. The letter from the Overseer of the Holy Grail War had said that focus was to be on removing Caster, and that he had killed over a hundred people just hours ago… It seemed impossible that this man would even be capable of murder on that scale. Caster, Grenouille he had said his name was, was too small, too _normal_ to seem capable. But Irisviel had sensed another Servant on the grounds, and this small man was the only one there.

"Why are you here?"

"Where's the girl?" Caster's voice was too large for his body, almost like a frog croak. "The girl from before, where is she?" He sounded nervous, almost like a teenager asking their crush out for the first time. "I must… I must see her!" He declared.

"My Master is not of your concern," Saber said dismissively. "You die tonight, Caster. I cannot allow an enemy and murderer to live. You've come here of your own accord, so I assume that you've made peace with God and are ready to die…" She leapt forward, sword swinging in an overhead arc and made to cleave Caster in two. It was a near thing, but Caster dodged at the last moment. His expression turning frenetic. Unlike other spell casters Saber had known of, Caster did not seem to be carrying a wand or catalyst of some sort, just three bottles attached to his belt.

"Where is she?" Caster's voice came pleading and desperate. He clumsily ducked a sword thrust and had a near miss with Saber's backswing. He didn't want to kill the blonde before learning of the scentless girl's location; after all, he couldn't track someone with no smell. He was about to ask again, but Saber's invisible sword caught him on the leg, effectively gimping him. Grabbing to his leg and hobbling, trying to make distance between the King of Knights and himself, Caster pulled a bottle from his leg.

"You have no business with her, _worm_." Saber strode forward, confident and strong. Caster really was the weakest Servant, no combat abilities whatsoever, he would almost be able to pass for human if it wasn't for the mana that Saber sensed in him. "Make peace with God, even a murderer deserves that much courtesy."

He had died before, and had no intention of doing so again. In a manic craze, Grenouille flipped onto his back and pointed the spray bottle at Saber in an almost threatening gesture. Like a gun, except pathetic.

"S-stay back," he stuttered, "you won't like this, I promise you won't. Just tell me where she is—" Saber's invisible sword was embedded into the ground next to his neck, cutting his sentence off.

"You're in no position to ask for _anything_. Accept your fate and may your burn in Hell as you did so many others." Her eyes were stones and as she hefted her blade to execute, Caster sprayed the bottle. The black mist traveled the short distance between the two almost instantly, and Saber dropped her sword and clawed at her face.

 _Ants!_ All at once the insects appeared. Hundreds, thousands of the bugs crawled and bit. Her eyes had been open, staring directly into Caster's dead, emotionless orbs, when her face had taken the brunt of the spray. She blinked and felt the little fuckers crawling underneath her eyebrows biting, _cutting_ with their sharp mandibles. She hardly noticed Caster stand back up and spray her again, this time on her armor. The ants crept in through the cracks of her armor, the small links of her chainmail, and began to eat at her flesh. Spray into her nose. Mouth. Eyes. Ears. Make sure they get to the genitals, hidden though they are by cloth and metal…

She couldn't see or smell or hear anything. The taste was of vinegar and the feel was fire. Huge and black, the ants were almost a full centimeter in length and they were everywhere, eating everything. It was like they set up hives in her clothes and undergarments and every single inch was food for them. She was being eaten alive. Little tunnels were being carved from her own flesh and blood.

She couldn't scream. Her mouth was full and throat swollen with bugs.

* * *

"Please don't move."

In another part of the forest, Maiya's body, prone on the ground, began to speak.

"Please don't move, Irisviel." Maiya, poor Maiya with a trio of Black Keys stuck in her chest, spoke and it seemed to the homunculus that the world froze. Maiya was conscious? The wound hadn't fatal?

"I'll be right there, Maiya, just… try and stay alive." Irisviel had no real advice to give to the dying girl, but had to fill the silence with something. In front of her was the enemy, Kirei Kotomine, bound to the tree by her alchemic strings. Even though the homunculus had never killed before, she knew that this was the time to do it. "I'll deal with Kotomine and I'll be right over to heal you."

"Irisviel… it hurts so much, Irisviel… Just please come help me." Maiya's voice was strained and hoarse with effort, she sounded near death. "It hurts. It hurts so much." Guilt filled the silver haired woman. Maiya had gotten injured while defending her from Kotomine…

Irisviel shot a baleful look at her prisoner and turned to her injured ally. "I'll be right there! Don't worry about a thing!" But when Iri turned, Maiya was standing. And she had a gun. And she fired. Once. Twice. Three times and Irisviel fell to the ground, leaking from her chest. It looked almost as if a flower had bloomed, one of those huge rafflesia blossoms, huge and red and stinking.

The black haired mercenary lit a cigarette and walked forward, stepping callously over Irisviel's bleeding body and towards the bound priest who was now smiling. She swatted at the hilts seemingly embedded in her chest and they fell right off. They had been replica Black Keys, glued down with simple paste to make it seem as if she had been impaled through the chest. An intravenous bag filled with blood, pilfered from the hospital's blood bank, had been stuffed under her clothes to make the fake wound seem all the more real.

"That was good acting, Master." A screen of smoke and red static covered Maiya's body for a moment before Spy familiar mask and suit came into view. "Some very impressive stuff." The Servant lazily deployed his balisong and cut the threads binding Kirei and the man stepped back to bring the blood back to his limbs. "I told you, that would be more fun than just simple murder."

Kirei took a cigarette and light from his Servant and began to smoke. His father would likely disapprove, but it was fun, absurdly fun to smoke after having accomplished something. "Yes… it was fun, wasn't it?" The priest prodded at the homunculus with a black key and flipped her over using his foot. "Shame I didn't catch the look of surprise on her face, I bet that would have been glorious."

Irisviel's face was a cratered mess. Spy had shot three times and each one had entered and exited the head. It was like flowers blooming, Kirei thought, especially in the fog addled moonlight, the blood glistened like a living thing, warm and erotic.

The two men left the forest.

* * *

Grenouille had been quite close to victory before the spear pierced his hand. He had pulled the fire perfume from his belt and was readying to spray it straight into his opponents face, but a distraction had come. It was a red affair, with all the blood and the spear's own color. Grenouille would have been pinned to the ground by the strike but he managed to tug himself free, breaking his hand completely and leaving the entire middle section, phalanges and carpal, pulled free. Had he been anyone else, he would have screamed. Instead he merely stumbled backwards and stared at his hand and missing finger. He stare carried no anger, no annoyance, only discomfort that his bottle had been ripped from his hand and was steadily leaking onto the ground…

"Who are you?" Caster asked, watching his blood drip from his ruined hand. Like the rest of his body, Grenouille could smell no odor to his blood save the salt and copper and iron, his own scent was missing as it always had been.

The man, a handsome fellow with rough hair teased backwards, carried two spears. One gold and the other red and gleaming at the tip with Caster's blood. The spearman grinned with anticipation and stepped forward, over the sundered spray bottle now leaking perfume everywhere. It was only a matter of time now… Grenouille could smell that the man had stepped into the perfume, tracking the smell of fire with him with every movement.

"I am the Servant Lancer. You must be the infamous Caster. Seems incredible that you be able to disable Saber to this degree, but I guess you've been summoned for a reason; your magical power must be quite strong to be able to fight the King of Knights."

Grenouille shook his head in the negative and in the back of his mind he knew that his escape was all but ensure as long as he stalled for a while. The fire perfume was slowly pooling and spreading along the dirt and broken twigs and dead leaves of the forest floor. It wasn't meant to be used that way; perfumes had to be smelled in small quantities so that the volatile oils and alcohols could evaporate more quickly and turn to clouds of scent. But nearly half a liter of perfume had been spilled, it would take time for the smell to reach the weak noses of the other Servants, but when it did…

"There's no magic here. Only perfume. It's an art." The moment was close now, Grenouille smelled the scent growing stronger as Lancer moved closer. The Servant's motions had disturbed the almost still puddle, knocking droplets of the perfume into the air and hastening the process. Grenouille took care and reached for his belt. It was awkward to do so with his non-dominant hand, and he had to reach across his body in an strange manner, but he pulled free his perfume of hiding.

In the background, Saber had vomited an impressive mass of insects and could be heard gagging and spitting and snorting, quite unbecoming of a monarch, as she tried to clear her mouth and nose of the insects.

"Ah, mister Caster… I'm an artist as well." Lancer gave a complicated twirl of his spears and inwardly Grenouille smiled. The air currents caused by the movement would likely disturb the perfume further and shorten the time it took the other Servants to smell the spilled perfume. "Most warriors are; and I'm one of the best!" Lancer's voice took a strong pitch as the Servant leapt forward, spears pointed on either side of Grenouille so there would be no escaping injury.

He tried to dodge, but the blade of the yellow, golden spear caught him on the right shoulder. The injury was heavy, and Grenouille could smell corruption in it, as if the spear blade had been poisoned or cursed.

Caster bit back a gasp and pulled the insect perfume from his belt, his aim was off because he had to use his off hand, but the general direction was correct, Lancer would almost certainly be caught in one of the clouds and then he'd be crippled as Saber was—

Two huge gusts of air came from behind Lancer and blew the clouds of perfume away. Saber was standing now, face swollen and disfigured with insects bites and breathing heavily, pointing her sword, the invisible one in Caster's direction.

"Lancer," she panted, "don't ever let him hit you. Whatever he's spraying is dangerous. Don't even breathe it in!"

Lancer nodded and stepped backwards. He stabbed his golden spear in the ground and hefted the red one, twisting backwards and launching the weapon forward at incredible speeds. A cone of air appeared for one brief moment at the spearhead and broke, caused a deafening boom. It caught Grenouille on the thigh, running straight through and cutting deep into the bone. Blood spilled on the forest floor and Caster wheezed.

"You're dead, Caster. Gae Dearg can nullify any magical protection you may conjure up. Gae Buidhe here," Lancer picked up the second spear, the legendary Golden Rose of Mortality, and hefted it as he did the first. "Gae Buidhe's injuries can't be— what's that smell?"

Finally, disturbed by the sonic boom from Lancer's spear throw, the perfume was disturbed enough, had dissipated enough for the Servant to notice. His leg was on fire and Lancer smelled the acrid odor of burning leather, not just burning but boiling first from the heat. Everything was forgotten save the heat and lick of the flames and the Servant just barely noticed Saber shouting as well. Behind him, the puddle from Caster's broken bottle, had caught aflame and was quickly spreading, spreading faster than fire had any right to spread in all directions. The air itself began to burn and even the ground bubbled as if the hell flames were trying to melt a path back to their home.

Gae Buidhe fell to the ground as Lancer's hands went to his leg. He fell to the ground and rolled, patting at his legs and driving dirt and earth to the flames in hopes of putting the fire out. They burned along with the flesh of his legs. Down to the bone. Man came from ash and to ash he will go. Diarmuid, the veteran of a hundred battles, had known no pain such as the pain of fire.

Behind him, hidden by the all consuming curtain of red and gold and orange flickering, madly flickering flames, Saber burned as well. She had tried to make it past the flames to put an end to Caster herself, thinking that her magical armor would protect her, but it had caught just as everything else had. Her left arm, the one that had been injured by Gae Buidhe, then by Pyramid Head, was up to the shoulder in flames and was quickly spreading, burning, burning. The stench of fire and heat and of metal and cloth and flesh turning to smoke was almost too much.

Caster gasped as he pulled Gae Dearg from his leg. He let it clatter to the ground as he began to hobble away, leaking blood but still alive. He had been meaning to bring a girl home that night, for his perfume, but decided against it. He was behind on his progress of _Bottled Love_ , but he was too injured to do much else but dispel himself and float back home.

* * *

"I've got to thank you, Spy. That moment in the forest…" Kirei stared almost lovingly at a photograph showing the startled face of one Irisviel von Einzbern. Betrayal written in the permanent lines of the face, the way the mouth opened dumbly and the eyes stared with fish-like anger, still unfocused and in shock. Spy apparently had some sort of hidden camera in on his clothes that allowed him to take photographs at any time. "That was beautiful. Some of the other Masters might say that Assassin is the weakest of the Servant classes; but they'd be wrong. What you did there was utter genius. Amazing." For the first time in his life, Kirei was truly happy and satisfied that he could say what was on his mind without fear of judgement from his father or teacher.

"Imagine the expression on her husband's face when he finds her body." Spy had opted to simply smoke instead of drink. "Imagine the anger, the _sorrow_. And her daughter too… her daughter will grow without a mother." Unlike Kirei, Spy didn't seemed overjoyed, merely calm and speculative. There was no guilt. In the Servant's mind, Irisviel was just another target, and the way that he had disguised himself to pull off the assassination was routine.

Kirei painted the scene in his head. Einzbern's pale body in the shimmering in the early morning light. Still warm to the touch but noticeably colder than a human being should have been. Her Servant and husband searching all throughout the night, calling for the woman to come back home, their desperate prayers for her safety and wellbeing. Their expressions of hurt and dismay and sorrow as they, one after another, stumbled upon the corpse. Saber would be first, and Kirei liked to imagine the King of Knights crying out of shame and guilt. Then Kiritsugu would find that copse of trees and his Servant crying over the body of his dead wife. He'd see the bullet wounds, and he'd assume the worst. His student perhaps? Had Maiya grown so jealous of the homunculus, so loving of Kirei that she couldn't bear to see his love with another woman? Would that be the explanation Kiritsugu would conjure? Would he then hunt down his own student, and in anger and cold sorrow, would the Magus Killer gun down his own student, thinking that she had been the murderer? What other participant in this Holy Grail War would stoop to use such mundane weaponry?

It was a beautiful dream that Kirei had.

"Master?"

"Yes, Spy?" The Church Executor responded with a dreamy tone, one that didn't fit his usually somber image.

"Why would you allow Tohsaka to win the War? Why ally yourself with him? Why bother with your father? Surely you understand now that you and I could take this War by storm. We could win it all and accomplish any dream…" Spy spoke seriously, but there was no judgement in his voice. It was a simple question, but one that Kirei had no real answer to.

"I don't really know. I suppose it's because I've accepted what my father and teacher had told me for so long." Kirei took a long drink from his glass of beer and reached over the bar to pour himself another one. "Part of it is because I have no real wish for the Grail. The ability to empathize maybe…"

Spy snorted and put his cigarette out on the ashtray. "For your wife and children maybe, but for the rest of this world… You are heads and shoulders above them, Kirei. Empathizing with the rest of the trash would lower you to their level. No matter what this world may say about men like us; we will exist."

Yes… Kirei would exist, he had done it for some twenty odd years now, and showed no signs of stopping. He was well practiced in the art of existence, and like a hidden tick, he had escaped the scrutiny of society; even his father and teacher hadn't begun to suspect the secret darkness in the Executor's heart.

"Why do you want to win?"

Spy's mouth opened and closed. "I'm not naive enough as to simply wish my clone away. I have great respect for myself," the Frenchman chuckled at his own joke. "But, you wouldn't understand Kirei. When I found that I had been cloned, I realized that something had been taken from me. The uniqueness of a human being had been erased, and my name ceased to mean _me._ It was a plural. That is the greatest insult a human being can ever face, the loss of uniqueness. I wish to make it so that my uniqueness is returned. Whatever I might have lost when that clone was made, I want it back."

"What about after all of that?"

"I'll go back to work. Sell my services to the world. I used to be the greatest killer of all time, you know. Presidents, kings and queens, Arabian sheikhs surrounded by their oil and harems. No one was out of my reach. The truest power is the power over life, is it not?"

Kirei thought hard about his own future. Spy seemed so certain, so ready to face the world and take back his own life. Was _power_ how his Servant found meaning in his meaningless existence? His father, his daughter. The Church. Kirei knew his future and wanted only to run…

* * *

His wounds had healed save for the one on his shoulder, the golden spear had left that one, and Grenouille assumed that some sort of magic was keeping it from healing as the rest of his body had. Even the deep hole and shattered bone in his thigh had closed.

He winced as he wrapped his shoulder in tight layers of wispy, stretchy gauze. The mobility in his dominant arm was compromised, but still serviceable. Really, other than the injuries, the worst part of his night was the fact that he hadn't found where the scentless girl lived. And he was now even further behind on his _Bottled Love_. One girl out of twenty five. He had gotten too distracted with his new capabilities and the powers granted by magic and the Spine. He'd have to hurry now and gather more specimens for his perfume, perhaps even expand his arsenal so the other Servants wouldn't be able to defeat him. He materialized in the living room of the beach house and was quickly greeted by his Master thumping down the hallway out of a rather large storage room.

"Caster! I have a surprise that I think you'll love." The orange haired serial killer was all grins, even if his eyes were a bit baggy from lack of sleep. "It's great, man. Totally _cool_."

Grenouille sniffed at the air. His preoccupation and worry had caused him to ignore the world around him for a while, even the things he smelled passed his notice as he planned for the future. But now, taking time to take in his surroundings, Grenouille realized what his Master had done and quickly followed.

"Incredible," he said breathlessly. "Well done, Master. You," Grenouille stopped to take a deep breath of the air. "One's still alive, but the rest of them… there's no smell of fear on the rest of them." Grenouille bent down over the plastic wrapped bodies and pulled back a corner of the covering. A girl stared at the ceiling with fish eyes. Dead, but calm as a Hindu cow. Two, three, four; and the last one was still alive, still struggling with her bonds. Unlike the four corpses, she was simply gagged and had her hands and feet bound. Grenouille beamed. He'd be able to use these girls for his perfume.

"Yeah, I realized that you hadn't brought back a girl in a couple days, and since you've been such a good friend, I thought I'd help you catch up! Bagged five of them tonight, but I guess I screwed up on the last one. I was sure that she had been dead…" Uryuu scratched his head sheepishly and grinned happily.

""No… Master… you've done so much already. Four is more than enough for me. The last girl can be yours to do with whatever you like. I'm not sure if I can process more than four at once anyways." Yes, four would be more than enough, and with the new process that Grenouille had thought of for extracting scent, he'd probably be done within the next couple hours.

"Anything? Really?" Uryuu smiled and jumped like an excited little boy. The girl bound and trussed in the corner had evidently heard and her struggles grew more frantic. Even through the gag Grenouille could make out hate laden invectives and curses.

Grenouille thought for a while and inspiration struck him. "No, not anything…" The girl was angry right now, so angry that her fear had been forgotten. A fierce girl with black hair. "Make sure she's scared. Put her in her place." With his strength enhanced by magic, Grenouille pulled the four corpses from the room and allowed his Master some privacy.

In the space that had once held a sofa, Caster had built a large cedar tub with an accompanying lid that was lined with rubber to make a powerful seal. In the center of the tub a was a huge metal screw shaft, positioned so that it would line up perfectly with the hole in the lid. He unwrapped the bodies which retained little heat, stripped them of their clothes and placed them gently, reverently in the cedar cask. All the while he could hear the girl screaming and yelling. His Master must have taken the gag off. Heavy, thumping blows and stinging slaps thudded dully through the walls of the house.

He filled the tub and bathed the bodies in warm mineral oil and runny animal fat and sealed the cask with the heavy lid, screwing it down with a huge wingnut fitted to the screw shaft. It was difficult with a bum arm.

Usually he preferred complete silence during his perfume making, but somehow, the screams that filled the house didn't bother him; he actually found himself enjoying the noise…

* * *

 ***rape scene**

"If you bite me, I'm going to pull out your teeth." Uryuu had a claw hammer in his hand and tapped it lightly against the girl's forehead. "Do you understand?" With the girl's stiff nod, Uryuu smiled and tugged her gag off.

"Fuck you, you limp dicked—" The hammer hit her head lightly, but the metal head was more than enough to leave a bruise, even with a soft hit. Her head went reeling and tears born of anger and stress and pain filled her eyes. "You didn't have to do that you prick…" she couldn't even cradle her head her hands were still bound behind her back.

"First off, what's your name?" His voice was filled with false kindness and understanding even as his eyes roamed cruelly over the girl's beaten body. "I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke."

"Harumi Tachibana… what— what are you going to do with me?" Her question was half-yell half-snarl.

"You know what I'm going to do." The psychopath ran a hand through his orange hair, totally self-satisfied. "Why don't you say it? Tell me what I'm about to do to you." His grin grew wider for he knew that the feelings of anger and helplessness were turning to the highest peaks of apprehension and resignation. "Tell me what I'm about to do. Make a guess. See if you can tell the future."

"Fuck you," the girl spat. There was a distinct sheen of terror in her eyes now, almost as if Uryuu's comments had caused her to have a premonition of her doom. "You're not going to do shit, cause I'm going to fucking kill you. Just try and touch me."

"It sounds like you know what I'm going to do. But you don't really understand…" The psychopath's hand cracked forward in a lighting strike movement, slapping Harumi's face into the plain concrete wall. It bounced a little against the hard stone, almost like how a fruit will slightly jolt when dropped. "You're going to understand though."

Bloody spittle drooled from Harumi's mouth and her pretty face was swollen and red from the strike. Her eyes had rolled back, half conscious from her impact with the wall. Still, she was able to moan her displeasure when Uryuu's roaming hands came to caress her body, crawling and pulling at her dirtied clothes like a pair of huge spiders.

"Don't touch me… don't you fucking dare."

"You're really pretty you know, like you have a nice body."

"Shut up…" Her voice quavered as cold flames settled in her stomach and her eyes closed tight as if ignoring the world would stop the horrors from descending. What was about to happen was unthinkable, yet it was all she could think of. A wet, hot thing trailed on her neck leaving tailings of sticky, fetid dampness. "Please stop."

"Open your mouth." The claw of the hammer slowly eased itself in between Harumi's tightly pressed lips and knocked against her teeth. "Open your mouth." This time the command came more insistently, although Uryuu never lost that playful tone. Harumi did as she was bid and slowly her humiliation spilled over her eyelids and trailed down her cheeks. The long, fat organ, stinking of sweat and the stench of man entered her mouth and sat heavily on her tongue, imparting a taste of rancidness, a feeling of violation. She cried.

"Remember not to bite. And use your tongue." Uryuu was quickly growing impatient and grabbed the girl's black hair, pulling and thrusting at the same time, causing the girl to gag and heave against the fleshy intruder currently rubbing against the inside of her mouth. She had never been with a man before and hadn't been expecting her first time to be like this…

Soon her vision grew hazy as her airway was blocked and unblocked in repeated, boring motions and the pace grew more and more frantic as Uryuu neared release. Harumi vomited continuously, a little dribble of hot, slimy sludge and half digested food. Disgusting and visceral for a while until her tormentor finally pulled her close, choking her on semen and her own vomit and the thick, log like organ halfway down her throat. Pure despair filled her as she felt warmth trickling down her throat, sticking to it and coating it in squirming ropes of thickness.

She was pushed back against the wall, crying and panting and so, so scared of what was to come next.

"Lick me clean. Get me hard again. I'm going to fuck you now."

The meaty rod, stinking of Harumi's vomit and salty excretion, rubbed against her face, half-flaccid. She shied away at first, crying and shaking her head in childish rejection until a hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled cruelly, shoving her into the wall and knocking her head about.

"I'm seriously going to hurt you if you don't play along."

She was scared and so she obeyed and while she cried and sucked and licked she turned her mind to heaven and prayed as she never had before.

' _Help me God, I'll do anything. I don't want to die. It shouldn't have been like this.'_

Her clothes, skimpy, sheer nightwear that looked like it was woven of unicorn hair gossamer and bits of stardust. Uryuu ripped them off cheerfully and stepped forward even as the girl's breath hitched and she scrambled backwards until finally finding herself cornered and unable to run, too scared to fight back; her earlier bluster forgotten for unassailable terror. The type of fear that comes only with the knowledge that there is nothing to be done about a future that only promised pain and humiliation and the worst violation of all.

Hands still bound by rough lengths of yellow nylon rope, those happy colors taunting her, she couldn't even struggle as her captor grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the ground. She hardly felt it at first, the whole of her body seemed to be numb with shock and terror and the phrase ' _it's not happening'_ raced through her mind in a never ending sequence of denial. Then she spasmed and her body betrayed her. Uryuu shoved her face onto the cold concrete floor, growing wet with blood and saliva and sweat from Harumi's crying face. Knees under her, bound by the ankles, too terrified of punishment to kick out.

She couldn't concentrate on hating him, there were too many emotions to focus on just one. The unbidden feelings of lust, a physical reaction to her situation that could not be dispelled no matter what she screamed or thought or did. Humiliation unparalleled; she had been a model student, the love of the school… boys had chased after her and girls had been jealous, but now she was in a strange place bound against her will in intimacy with a stranger, hateful stranger.

She felt herself tearing and a warmth spreading from her core to the rest of her body. God it _hurt_. But there was nothing she could do to stop it. Acceptance was key but who could accept violation like this? Uryuu's hands grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over, pushing her tightly bound legs almost parallel with her body and thrusting deep, eliciting shameful moans from her mouth and keeping her legs pinned down with the weight of his body.

He was handsome, she realized. Her captor with orange hair and smiling face was handsome in a plain sort of way and she hated him for it. She hated so much while she was stuck there on the floor, writhing in unwanted pleasure and disbelieving shock. She prayed. She begged for mercy and for her parents. And when she came, she cried harder than she thought possible and lie there curled up, prone and completely still save for her heaving sobs, leaking tears from her eyes and semen from her vagina.

"Bring her out, Master," a voice from outside, far away called. "A new perfume that I thought of…"

Somehow, those quiet calls scared Harumi more than anything Uryuu had said or done. Something worse was about to happen…

* * *

A little girl with black, almost brown hair sat outside and dug at the ground with a little stick. Rin was lonely, but more pressingly, she was bored. There was depressingly little to do without her friends, and so far away she was from her father that she couldn't even pester him to teach her magic. Still, she found ways to occupy herself, as small children do.

She had been exploring the area around her grandparents' house that morning and stumbled across a small protruding, _something_ , that poked out of the ground. It wasn't a twig or stone or root; it felt dry, but supple, almost like beef jerky or some similar dried meat. So, the curious child she was, she went home for a small snack and a gardening spade.

Humming to herself a song she had learned in school, a small folk tune as old as human memory, she dug and imagined herself to be a paleontologist. She had wanted to watch that dinosaur movie that came out last year, but her father had refused and Rin had only her imagination to serve her. She was digging for bones, and after a while of digging she found that the mystery object was the left hand of a human being, mummified and desiccated but unmistakably familiar.

Her thoughts of dinosaurs shifted to Egypt now. She fancied herself a famous archaeologist exploring the tombs of kings long since crumbled to dust, the bones of an empire once feared the world over. A cramped series of tunnels filled with deadly booby traps and false endings until she finally came to the treasure room filled with burnished gold and star-like jewels just like the ones her father used in his magic. And under the heavy sarcophagus face would be the mummy, a forgotten ruler of the ancient kingdom…

There was a hole through the palm. Perfectly circular. Stigmata the Christians call it. Holy Wounds.

She panted as she tugged on the arm, holding by the hand and wrist with her grubby, child hands stained brown with dirt and the juices of the decaying autumn leaves or red and gold. Perhaps half the mummy's forearm had been uncovered and digging deeper was growing quite difficult, roots of trees and stones blocked her spade and her little muscles could hardly muster the strength to cut through the thick tubers or push aside the deeply embedded rocks.

"Yes! I got it!" Rin stumbled backwards and steadied herself, marveling at her discovery. A human arm, old and dry and twisted. It looked more like a gnarled tree branch than an arm, but Rin knew better. Something about the arm, the strange hole through the palm perhaps, or maybe the unshakable aura of awe surrounding it; she knew it was special. Something _amazing._ "I can't wait to show mom!" And perhaps she'd even be able to show her father!

The girl smiled, and ran home carrying the arm in both hands with unconscious reverence. She didn't even notice it begin to disappear…

 **AN:**

 **Since the TF2 comic is not complete at the time of writing, Spy's biography is just headcanon.**

 **A note about Caster's powers. I wasn't sure if it was explained well enough in the text so here I'll elaborate and make it as plain as possible.**

 **Caster's perfumes have been augmented by the power of the Holy Spine. They used to smell so realistic that one whiff could give people hallucinations depending on the scent. Now the smell of the perfume is so hyperrealistic that smell the perfume makes any person who smells it to believe that the perfume is actually what smell it's mimicking. The perfume for fire that Caster made smells like fire, so people believe there is a fire. But due to magic and Holy Corpse and Stand bullshit, the** _ **belief**_ **that there is a fire translates into fire existing in the real world and being able to affect it. This sort of fire needs no fuel as long as people smell the perfume and believe that it's real. They smell burning so whatever smells like burning, whatever has the perfume on it, must be burning, right? More than the control of smell, Caster's power is the ability to make people's beliefs come true.**

 **Everything disappears once the smell is gone.**

 _RED Spy_

Class: Assassin

Master: Kirei Kotomine

Alignment: Neutral Evil

Height: 180 cm

Weight: 80 kg

Armament: Cloaking watch, butterfly knife, revolver, various spy equipment

STR: D

CON: D

AGI: C

MGI: C

LCK: C

Noble Phantasm: B

 _Biography_

Almost nothing is known about Spy, not even his closest allies knew his true name, and neither does anyone in the Holy Grail War. He can be said to be French because of his accent, but there is no record of him anywhere. Only a trail of bodies and money. He's a ladykiller (it's an expression) and a widowmaker (literally). He doesn't like to kill women and children, but will do so when pushed.

Earlier in his career he was coerced into working for RED, an extremely wealthy company, to commit industrial sabotage against BLU, a rival company. He and his comrades were either cloned by RED to defeat BLU's original mercenaries, or BLU cloned RED's originals to counter. No one knows which side is the original.

Later in life, Spy and his allies helped defeat the Administrator, their former employer, and destroy all the Australium, a mysterious material with amazing capacities for lengthening the human lifespan, by removing it from the earth. He was raised to the Throne of Heroes for sacrificing himself to make sure that the Australium would be destroyed.

 _Tactics_

Spy is skilled in close quarters combat, but is no match for the other Servants besides Caster. Instead he works from the shadows to cripple his foes and their Masters either through blackmail or through assassination.

 _Class Skills_

Presence Concealment: A

Spy can hide his presence from other magically sensitive individuals with this Class Skill. His natural abilities as a hitman lend him to be well-versed in the methods of hiding and his technology only furthers this.

 _Personal_

Reading: C

Spy has spent much of his life dealing in secrets and can quickly find someone's weaknesses and psychological faults just by speaking to them. This allows him to prevent his enemies from fighting to their full capacity by pre-emptive sabotage.

Surprise: B

Spy's attacks on an unexpecting enemy ignore any magical resistances. A stealthy backstab or headshot will leave his foes with significant damage.

 _Noble Phantasm_

Disguise Kit: B

Spy can change his appearance by disguising himself and can mimic the speech and mannerisms of others to incredible accuracy.

The Dead Ringer: B

A cloaking watch in form of an old, ornate pocket watch. The Dead Ringer doesn't allow Spy to cloak normally, but upon receiving damage, Spy can activate the Dead Ringer to cloak and leave behind a fake corpse to fool his opponents. While he can't cloak normally with The Dead Ringer, he can use his normal watch to overcome his weakness, something that wasn't possible with the limitations of the RED vs BLU combat.

Your Eternal Reward: B

A huge knife of Middle Eastern design. Your Eternal Reward vanishes the victims for a short while after their deaths and allows for Spy to instantly take their appearances without having to bring out his disguise kit.

Enforcer: B

A snubnose revolver. When disguised, Spy does significantly more damage to his opponents per shot.


	6. Miracle Man and Company

Three shots rang out in impossibly fast rapport., almost as if they had been shot from three separate guns in the same instant. Lancer only barely dodged, a bullet carving a gouging groove against his armor and shearing off a bit of hair. They were under attack and had been caught off guard. A distinct disadvantage, but nothing insurmountable.

Diarmuid and Sola-Ui, their conversation disrupted by the sudden gunshots, turned their eyes to the surroundings: the empty warehouse district, dusty dirt ground and sparse vegetation all around but no else in sight.

"Diarmuid! Behind you!" Sola-ui called and her Servant reacted instinctively, sidestepping whatever threat was behind him and swinging his spear in a wide arc. There was only a cloud of smoke and a long, gleaming knife floating ominously out of it. Lancer thrust Gae Buidhe into the cloud in hopes of crippling the enemy but there was nothing there in the miasma, as quick as it came, it dissipated along with the knife and for a moment Diarmuid thought that he saw the silhouette of a man engulfed in the smoke.

"Stay on guard, Master. Our opponent seems to be of the dishonorable sort." Diarmuid hated enemies like that. He had fought Caster yesterday, and that fight had put a bad taste in his mouth. Even with he and Saber joining forces for a brief while that night, they had been unable to defeat Caster because of the man's strange, dishonorable powers.

"Show yourself so that I may know the face of the man I kill." Diarmuid called out to the world with all the confidence he could muster and winced a little as Sola-ui ran to his side, clinging to him. She really was growing quite irksome…

Three more gunshots. But these Lancer blocked easily with his spears now that he was on guard.

"It seems that it was a mistake to aim for you first, Lancer." A man's voice, smooth and accented, said from the direction of the warehouse where the injured Kayneth, Diarmuid's former Master, lay in convalescence. "First your Master. Then his fiancee. Then you. My order was quite mistaken…" The voice trailed off and Lancer sprinted forward, ignoring Sola-ui's calls to wait. His honor was on the line. Although he wasn't particularly fond of his old Master, he had promised his loyalty and spear to the man and to let him be murdered just like that would be highly amiss.

He barreled through the warehouse doors, not bothering to take time to open them, breaking them off their sliding rollers as he rushed to Kayneth's side. But it was too late. His Master lay on the small cot with a puddle of red already spilling to the floor, slicking the hard concrete with slippery blood.

' _Damn!'_ Lancer knew he was defeated. Whoever his opponent was, he had played him for a fool. Kayneth had been killed before the initial attack, and the threat and merely been a ruse to pull Diarmuid from Sola-ui's side.

Halfway out of the warehouse doors, Lancer heard a gasp, muffled by the distance and knew that it was over. Sola-ui was likely dead… Then the tinkling sounds of a woman's laughter convinced him otherwise.

"Mistress!" Lancer came upon an unexpected scene. His master speaking with a strange man, whom he assumed was the mystery shooter and killer of Kayneth. "Stay away from him! It may be another Servant!" He sprinted to Sola-ui's side and pushed a safe distance away, holding his spears, ready to defend.

"Calm down." The man put out a cigarette with the heel of his shoe and played idly with his strange knife. "I'm not here to fight."

"You killed my Master, of course you're here to fight. I don't know why you haven't attacked Mistress yet, but I won't let you hurt her. She's my Master's fiancee and my ally," he snarled and turned his head briefly to the red haired woman that he was charged with protecting. "Give the order, Mistress, and you'll have this man's head."

The woman, with a lovestruck expression on her face, smiling slightly shook her head in the negative. "There's no need for that, Lancer. He's explained everything and is now our ally."

Diarmuid's expression turned outraged. How could she be so callous? Her _fiance_ had just been murdered, strapped to a bed, without a chance to even fight back.

"I never _loved_ Kayneth. Our families set up the marriage without even asking for my consent… but I love _you_ , Diarmuid." Sola-ui's voice was soppy with emotion and Lancer flinched at the word, that four letter word that put more pain in his heart than any spear or arrow or bullet ever could. _Love_. The thing that Diarmuid could never truly have. What good was love when it was forced upon him, coerced from every woman who looked upon him by that damned spot on his face?

"This is Assassin. We're going to ally with him until this War is over."

"Even more of a reason not to trust him. A man such as he thrives on lies and ambiguities. He'll betray us at his first convenience." Diarmuid clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on his spears. "Mistress, he could have _killed_ us tonight! Don't give him a chance to get away! Let me kill him."

She seemed to consider it for a moment but quickly shook her head. "Diarmuid… as much as I want to listen to you; Assassin has given us a perfect offer." Sola-ui gestured at Assassin. "We," she said pointing towards Diarmuid and herself, "don't have reason to win the War. That was my Kayneth's goal, but it is not mine. And you, my love, you said yourself that the only reason you want to fight is to show your abilities as a knight. You can do that. _We_ can be together; forever. We don't need a Grail, do we? We already have each other…"

"If that's your wish, Mistress…" He wanted so badly to disobey, but it seemed that Sola-ui had her mind set. "But why do we need to ally ourselves with this man? Isn't it unnecessary if you no longer wish to participate in this War?" It didn't sit well with Lancer that Sola-ui was so enamoured with himself. That attraction was making her act rashly. There was simply too much danger in leaving Assassin alive, no matter what he had promised.

Assassin lit another cigarette and interjected. "You still have your duel with Saber, do you not? And Berserker, I believe is another opponent that you have not defeated yet. Does your honor not call for you to finish those battles?"

Annoyingly, Assassin was correct. Diarmuid could not imagine leaving the duel between he and Saber unfinished, and Berserker had impuned on the sanctity of that duel. He would also need to be defeated.

"And what about you? Why would you come here tonight? What sort of deal did you and my Master make?"

"We have mutual enemies. The mediator may have called for battle to cease until Caster is defeated, but I believe that Berserker is by far the most dangerous Servant in the War. I am proposing an alliance until the monster can be taken out. You can have your duel with Saber afterwards, and should you win, I promise you that you will be free to leave. No other Servant will make moves against you, this I swear."

"You would have me fight your battles for you. You're a coward…"

"Pragmatic is a more accurate term, I believe. You said that you merely wish to prove your bravery and chivalry. This deal that your Mistress and I have made will satisfy every party. Berserker will be defeated, you will get your duel with Saber, and Sola-ui will be free to do what she wishes."

"And what do you get out of this?"

"I'm not arrogant as to believe that I can defeat Berserker. It's better that one of the more combat heavy classes deal with that Brute."

Lancer looked uneasily towards his smiling Mistress. She still had two Command Spells left, and he wouldn't put it past her to abuse them in a way to bend his affection towards her. But he sighed and bowed his head. He had no say in the matter. Heroic Spirit he may have been, he was still just a knight, and his honor dictated that he obey Sola-ui's wishes.

The deal was done.

* * *

When Valentine entered the familiar space of Tokiomi's office, he noticed that for the first time the man had a shaken expression on his face. There rested a large wooden box on the desk in front of Tokiomi, and Valentine could only guess to as what was inside. He felt an odd twinge in his heart and wondered why he had been called so early in the morning.

"It seems that you haven't been entirely honest with me Valentine." Tokiomi's voice was quiet. "You've been hiding something."

' _He must have discovered the alliances I made with Saber and Rider. What a bother.'_ He thought. It wasn't anything incredible or detrimental, but he'd likely have to make concessions to Tokiomi now and placate the man—

"What is your goal, Valentine? Why are you _really_ here?"

"I told you before, to make my country the greatest it could possibly be."

Tokiomi stood and raged, bringing his hands to the table in a loud bang. "You're lying! I saw it all in the dreams… the link between Servant and Master. A connection of mind and destiny. I know what you want." He finished with a shudder and opened the case and peered in, contents only visible to himself.

"I hardly think this is a worthy issue for you to be worrying about. I care not if you doubt my motivations."

The room was silent for a moment, but only a moment. The hinges of the old, wooden case creaked as Tokiomi opened the box fully.

"What are these… things?" Tokiomi asked with a whispered tone. "They've been in the Tohsaka family for generations now, and I haven't a clue at what the purpose is. They're magical artifacts of course, and I've always assumed that they were to be used in the summoning ritual for a Servant." His voice lilted upwards in a sharp change of pitch as he regained composure.

"They're the remains of a human being, as you can plainly see." Valentine hid his excitement even as a series of powerful chills ran down his spine. The feeling of ice spiders crawling over his skin. His breath hitched and he began to sweat. In the box was a Rib Cage, two Ears, and two Legs. A third of the Saint Corpse Parts, sitting there in the box, so close and ready for his taking… "I don't suggest you use them in any summoning ritual. Do you know how your ancestor came about these Parts?"

Tokiomi shook his head and took a sip of his wine. "It's said that my great-grandfather bought them from a traveling salesman in the early twentieth century, but I wouldn't know for sure," he stared into Valentine's blue eyes, searching for signs of recognition that he knew would be there. "Do you know of the connection between Master and Servant, Valentine? The Grail ties our destinies together and past and present become known."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have dreams, Valentine. Your memories, I live them out when I sleep. While much of it passes my memory just as a normal dream does; this particular image stuck with me. In your past life, you were collecting these Parts. Why?"

"They are the remains of a very important man."

Tokiomi was not satisfied and made it plain by sighing. "I can tell you don't even want the Grail. Like the Steel Ball Run you sponsored while you were president, it is another means to collect these Parts. I assume there are enough to make a full human figure?"

"Correct on both counts."

"Whose body is it?"

"Who do you think?"

But it was too terrible, wonderful, awe inspiring a thought to voice. The Corpse of The Saint. Not any Saint but the very first… The soul of God placed in a vessel of flesh and blood. The Miracle Man. The man who was said to have died for the collective sins of the world. Forgiveness for all.

Valentine stood from his seat and looked down on his Master. "I did not know that you held these Corpse Parts, and I respect that they have become a family heirloom of sorts. You may be reluctant to give them up to me—"

"You're not getting them. If they truly come from a Saint, these Parts will have magical uses that you could never know."

"Tokiomi," Valentine said threateningly. He leaned forward and pushed the lid of the case downwards, closed. "Either you can willingly give me the Corpse Parts, or I will kill you. Not only you, but your children and wife as well. Even the girl that you gave to the Matou family I will hunt and kill. There will be nothing left of your family, no legacy, no wealth, and no glory. Your family will be forgotten and I won't even give them the courtesy of burial."

Tokiomi sneered, fully confident in his victory. Even if a human could never compete with a Servant, he still had other ways of fighting back.

"You're forgetting, Valentine," he began with a smug expression on his face, "that I still have three Command Spells. A word from me and I could have you kill yourself. **By the Command Spell,"** Tokiomi's hand lit up, runes glowing red. " **I command that you will not harm my family or myself."**

Valentine stayed standing and made no movement. He looked briefly dizzy while the command spell worked its magic but otherwise retained his calm and serious demeanour.

" _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."_

Valentine's words sent a chill down Tokiomi's spine. He knew his Servant had some ability to create clones of himself, but other than that, he had no idea what the Servant's limitations were. Still, the Command Spell guaranteed that Valentine could do him no harm but— Tokiomi spilled from his chair and grabbed his cane, his magical conduit. From the base, or rather from the place that the lid met the body of the wood, came a man that was not Valentine…

"Goodbye, Master. As you have commanded, _I_ will bring no harm to you."

The man spilled to the floor all at once, disoriented and tired, and even as Tokiomi backed away in horror and Valentine left the room, the Magus realized who exactly Valentine had summoned. A familiar face, one that he saw every morning while he shaved and went about cleaning himself… Down to the smallest detail, Tokiomi Tohsaka was staring at Tokiomi Tohsaka, and in his heart of hearts felt a tugging to draw closer to his counterpart, almost as if their destinies were tied together.

"Valentine! What nonsense is this! Get back here—" As Tokiomi prepared a great gout of fire in his hand to attack, his counterpart, moaning on the ground grabbed his foot and it disappeared in a cloud of blood and cubic shapes, menger sponges. The Magus screamed and fell to the ground, his magical circuits alight with burning acid from his failed spell and the pain of contact.

There was a sickening sizzle in the room where blood from Tokiomi's stump leg met with the blood from the alternate Tokiomi's missing hand. Tiny cubes, impossible in their intricacy came into being and sparked into the air. Tokiomi flailed and made accidental contact with his counterpart, leaving a hand shaped gouge that took half of the alternate Tokiomi's head and leaving the original Magus sans hand and sans Command Spell.

The door opened again and Valentine came carrying a huge white sheet that Tokiomi blearily recognized that was from the dining room. The world was spinning, blurry, and somehow, he could feel the pain that his clone was going through, as if the exact injuries had manifested on his very soul. This was empathy beyond human understanding.

"Perhaps I won't kill your family after all; that was hardly a challenge, and you _did_ bring me the Corpse Parts…"

Like a magician's trick, Valentine unfurled the dining cloth and covered the twitching bodies of both Tokiomi's. They were unrecognizable, and both were dead, or would be soon enough. He activated D4C once and again and body bodies disappeared, blood and any remnants all banished to an alternate world. It was almost certain now that the Tohsaka residence and all its wealth was barred to him. Risei and Kirei would almost certainly stand against him, but it didn't matter. It was worth having killed his arrogant Master.

And now, the three Corpse parts were his. The Legs, the Ribs, and the Ears… Valentine took them and they were pulled into his body, much as the heart had been absorbed so long ago. They were his now, and with the inexhaustible mana that accompanied the Corpse Parts, Valentine knew that staying materialized would not be an issue.

The Heart and Legs and Ribs and Ears; nearly half of the Parts needed to complete the Corpse were now in his possession. God and Fortune had favored him once again, chosen him as their _champion_. The world was in his grasp now. The other Parts were near, somewhere in this city, Valentine could feel it strongly now. All the Parts yearned to be near one another; to be complete.

* * *

The house fell slowly to the side and Grenouille cursed as he spilled the oils he had been working with, the glass bottles and perfumery equipment, his flacons and oil samples and distilling pot fell to the side and spilled their precious contents. Thankfully he had already done his work on _Bottled Love_ for the day, and the perfume that had just been ruined was the more mundane formula for burning he had thought of. But that didn't change the fact that there was _danger_.

Grenouille stumbled and turned the kitchen fan on. Quickly the smell of perfume he had been working with disappeared as air was brought in from the outside world. Crisp, clean sea air tainted with the scent of decay… something was here. Something dangerous, something—

"Caster! We've got to get out of here! There's some sort of monster outside!"

Uryuu half ran half fell down the stairs, head still soapy from his interrupted shower and clothes awry, he had thrown them on quickly in his panic.

"I saw from a window! He had this big ass sword and this weird pyramid on his head!

He's chopping down the stilts that this house is standing on!" Just as Uryuu finished his panicked statement, the house lurched again and it seemed as if the entire world had been shifted, knocked out of its normal axis by a tremendous tweak from God.

"Shit, shit, shit…" Grenouille held onto the oven door to keep himself from falling to the wall. Uryuu crashed past him into a television and moaned. With a spurt of strength he would not have been capable of in his past life, Caster threw whatever he could into his pack and pulled himself to the kitchen island using drawer handles and the edges of the counter.

"Master, you need to run! Use the perfume if you have to! Find a new hideout! I'll come find you." Grenouille had Uryuu's scent memorized as he had memorized all smells he had experienced.

Grenouille heard the sound of a spritzer and the familiar smell of his most oft used perfume. His Master would be safe while he dealt with this threat. It was a strange scent, otherwordly was the only word he knew to describe it. A whiff of corruption like meat left too long in the sun or perhaps the pungent aroma of a festering wound… yes that was the way to put it. Grenouille steadied himself on the side of the kitchen island and made a lunging step toward the door to the outside. He had opened that door dozens of times before, but never at this angle with the door opening _above_ his head rather than to his side. It was awkward and it took him two tries to fumble with the lock.

Finally he stumbled out the door and fell perhaps two dozen feet into a heap of sand, winded and panicking. The smell of terror and rot was stronger here and it was growing closer, another Servant come to kill him…

But he had the Spine, and he had his perfumes. At the very least he'd be able to escape. Perhaps he'd be able to even defeat the enemy.

A bellowing roar came from somewhere on the other side of the collapsed house and Caster scrambled onto the ruined structure. It was easier than expected, the windworn, wooden siding gave his hands and feet good traction and considering that the house lay on its side, the extrusions of the various rooms and crevices from gutters and windows made good handholds for Grenouille to climb. Soon enough he summited the house and found the monster that Uryuu had described. Eight feet of muscle and scars. The smell of human suffering, the monster wore an apron of human skin, Grenouille could tell even at this distance atop his personal mountain of wood.

Garbled, guttural noises came from the monster as it swung its sword and hacked at the house. It tried to climb up to meet Caster in combat, but its immense strength worked against it. There was no finesse, no control of strength and the wooden frame of the house broke with the Berserker's immense strength.

Tentatively Caster took out a spray bottle, the familiar smell of burning sulfur, and sprayed the air. Nothing happened. Grenouille's perfumes needed the enemy to be able to smell and understand what the perfume was to perform the more magical functions of burning or hiding or conjuring a swarm of insects to bite and sting; without the enemy's belief and understanding, the perfumes were nothing but scents. No magic to them, not even with the assistance of the Spine. He hadn't expected an enemy that had no need to breath…

The monster groaned and fell to its knees, stabbing the great knife in the ground and using its oddly webbed hands to _dig_. Grenouille looked on in confusion before remembering that the bodies of the girls, robbed of their scent, and the original homeowners had been buried underground by his Master. And soon enough, the beast roared triumphantly and pulled out pallid bodies, fishlike and clammy from the cold beneath the sands, and dashed them against the wooden house that had been flipped on its side.

A gruesome, smacking sound, the sound of a bare fist against thin flesh and muscle rang out in the cloudy, mid morning light of the Pyramid Head Was bludgeoning the corpses against the side of the house with such force that they burst like obscene balloons and the bones turned to pulp.

Grenouille decided that it was time to run, but somehow in the deepest, oldest part of his lizard brain, he knew that Berserker would chase him to the ends of the earth…

* * *

"Irisviel! What happened to you!" Kiritsugu had just arrived back at the Einzbern mansion. He had planned on hunting down Kayneth and removing him for good, but it seemed that someone had beat him to it… But that was a worry for another time; Irisviel's red shirt was darker than usual, almost completely clotted with old blood. There were three huge holes in her shirt, but the skin underneath was unmarred. Thank God for Avalon.

"I'm fine." Irisviel's voice was small and weak. "Ran into a bit of trouble last night while we were investigating that intruder."

Kiritsugu squinted his eyes. "How were you injured then? Wasn't Saber protecting you?"

"We split up… Saber went on her own while _Maiya_ and I stuck together." Irisviel said the name with uncharacteristic vehemence. " _She's_ the one who shot me."

' _What?'_ Maiya would never have done something as rash as that.

"On accident? Or—"

"It was on purpose!" Irisviel had a strange intense look in her eye. "We were fighting against Kotomine and she faked her death! I was just about to kill the man when she told me to turn around to heal her first. She shot me! Three times! I would have died without Avalon!"

"Calm down, Iri, there's no way Maiya would…" but an evil thought arose in Kiritsugu's mind. Maiya _did_ have a reason to want to kill Irisviel. Was simple jealousy the motivator? He quashed the thought and shook his head as if to ward it away. Maiya was completely loyal, she wouldn't betray him like this.

The homunculus stomped her foot and her voice rose to angry pitches that Kiritsugu had never heard before. "I'm not lying! I looked in her eyes while she shot me and I saw nothing but _hate_! She was so serious… How can you defend her? I'm your wife, aren't I? Trust me for once."

The words blew cold into Kiritsugu's heart. He had hardened it to the world in hopes of getting through the War as quickly and as efficiently as possible, but Irisviel always found a way to make him feel more human. It was a guilty feeling, a heavy emotion that hurt to carry.

"There's an explanation somewhere, Iri. Before we do anything too rash, we need to hear Maiya's side of the story. It could have been an imposter, right?"

Irisviel turned her head and said nothing. The air was full of the feeling of betrayal, and Kiritsugu knew that she had been hurt, not just by bullets, but by his words and defense of his student.

"You talk about going too far, but you blew up a hotel, didn't you? A hundred people died that night and—"

"That had nothing to do with me, and you know it. A coincidence." Kiritsugu errantly scanned over a newspaper headline; a sensationalist one trying to link the recent string of "gas leaks" to the disappearance of several young women around the city. A conspiracy theory, but one that was based in fact.

"Where's Saber? I need to talk to her."

Irisviel hung her head and pointed to a room down the corridor. "She's hurt pretty badly. I don't know if she can talk."

"Well, she has to. We need to plan our next move." He walked briskly into the room that Irisviel had pointed out, and found Saber prone on the bed. Her armor and clothing had been removed and replaced with thick bandages, turning yellow as pus seeped into them from whatever oozing injuries the Servant had sustained. If she was still convalescing from injuries sustained the last night, they must have been severe. "Saber. Are you awake?"

A croak came from the mummy on the bed.

"Iri, what happened to her?"

"I don't know. After your student _shot_ me. I fell unconscious. Next thing I knew was Saber dragging me home. I tried my best to heal her, but she was really hurt. The best thing is to let her rest I think. Since she's a Servant, she'll heal in the next couple hours probably."

"What do you think hurt her?"

Irisviel stepped forward and caressed Arturia's hair, careful not to disturb any skin. Over half her body had been covered in burns, and the rest of it had been eaten away or chewed at by insects who left their small red hickeys on her skin. Under her skin. Inside her throat and behind her eyeballs and in her ears. Irritating blisters that popped whenever they brushed against a surface. Huge and tender, some the size of boiled eggs.

"Probably Kirei's Servant, but I'm not too sure. We don't know what he's summoned yet, do we?"

Kiritsugu sighed and allowed himself a brief moment of weakness. He leaned over and hugged his wife. He was so, so sorry that it would come to this. The things he would do to save the world…

"Was she… burned?"

"Yes, very badly. Her face," Irisviel shuddered at the memory, "it was burned all black and grey and I could see her bone."

That narrowed down the suspects quite a bit. Kiritsugu didn't exactly know all of the capabilities of the other Servants, but it was obvious that burns meant that Caster had been the one to fight Saber. The Mediator had called the War to be halted because of Caster, after all. That one had burned those people alive… but the guilt couldn't be placed squarely on the Servant. It had been Kiritsugu's plan to evacuate the residents in and around the Hyatt after all, and that had been the reason Caster had the opportunity to commit his arson in the first place. He had always wanted to be a Hero, but it seemed at times that every action he took brought more pain than good.

He wanted to save the world, but had left little Illyasviel, his own daughter, behind to be cared for by soulless, unfeeling homunculi instead of her mother and father.

"Iri?"

"Yeah?"

His facade of strong, unfeeling stoicism nearly broke at her loving, forgiving tone. How could he do this? A week or so and Irisviel would be sent to her death, and he would be the one to do it. He had already betrayed her. Adultery. And soon with death. He would repay her love and devotion with death and lies.

But it had to be done.

"Nevermind."

* * *

A knocking came at the door and by now Waver knew that it was probably the delivery man bringing another article of clothing or trinket that Rider had found. He sighed to himself, thinking of the immense strain to his personal savings that Rider had accrued. His family wasn't one of the major Magus families. No old money or great power to call upon, no great heritage of any sort. And here Rider was, summoned to fight a War, but instead playing video games…

Waver scrambled around for a pen to sign the form that the delivery man would ask him to sign and ran to the door. The Mackenzies were out for the day and it was just he and Rider in the house.

"Yeah, that package is probably for us, let me just—" It wasn't a delivery man.

"Let me in boy, I have matters to discuss with your King."

It wasn't a delivery man at all, it was that Servant from before, Archer, the President. ' _Oh God,'_ Waver fliched backwards into the house and ran upstairs.

"Rider! Enemy Servant! Help me out man!"

A door burst off its hinges as Rider came to his Master's defense.

"Boy! Keep quiet! You made me lose a life! Now what's all this about an enemy Servant?"

Waver stumbled on the stairs and panted, pointing towards the door. "It's him! The guy from before, uh…" Waver thought for a minute, "Funny Valentine! Yeah, that's his name!"

"Well did you invite him in?"

In surprise, Waver dropped his head and hit it against the railing, rubbing it in pain. "Are you crazy? He's here to try and kill us!"

Rider shook his head, tutting disappointedly. "Do you not remember? Valentine and I have struck an alliance. He's here for a visit. He wants to talk about something."

"How do you know that?"

The burly Servant shot a confused look at Waver. "He told me over the telephone."

Waver nearly fainted.

"You're joking… right? He called you— and God knows how he got this number, or how he found out that we were staying here— and you're saying that you _invited him_?"

Rider shook his head slowly, as if he was talking to a child. "Yes and no. He called, and the old lady picked up the phone. She was the one to invite him here, I told her that he was a friend of ours."

He could have cried.

"What are you standing around for, boy? Bring the man in!"

Waver stood and stuttered for a moment before sighing deeply and complying. Valentine had been waiting at the doorway, with a bemused expression on his face which widened to a grin when he caught sight of Waver coming back, chastised and sullen.

"Please, come in." The young Magus said dully. "We're so excited to have you."

' _Just go home!'_

The President nodded and stepped inside, motioning to several suitcases outside with a bored flick of the wrist.

"You can leave those there for a while. Just show me to Iskander."

Waver nodded and led the way, finding Rider in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator.

"Waver! Where is the alcohol! It isn't right to entertain a guest without alcohol!"

"You drank it all yesterday," Waver managed to grit out. "We can go to the store later, but—"

Rider scoffed and slammed the door to the refrigerator shut. "Go buy some."

…

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am."

"I'm not even twenty yet! You can't buy alcohol until you're twenty in Japan!"

At that Rider seemed to be genuinely lost, insulted even.

"What a backwards people. When I'm King, I'll be sure to make sure that citizens of all ages can have as much alcohol as they desire! That will be my first act!" Rider declared triumphantly. He pointed towards the door. "But for now, find some alcohol, boy. Courtesy must be obeyed before any laws made by a false king. Now go!" Rider made a shooing motion with his hand. "I'll stay and play host to your guest."

"He's _your_ guest! And why should I have to buy booze for you with my own money? I'm already paying the bills for all those snacks and video games you want!"

Rider didn't even looked a bit ashamed, merely disappointed. "Boy, you're making yourself look bad in front of our guest…" he said sternly.

Before Waver could scream himself hoarse, Valentine interjected.

"I'll take care of food and drink, Rider. It's the least I could do."

Rider's serious expression broke into a grin. "See Waver! This is the sort of 'can-do' attitude you need! A man needs to have confidence in his own abilities."

" _Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."_ Valentine spoke almost musically and a silvery ghost accented in pink, slim yet muscular and sporting two huge rabbit ears appeared. "Food and wine." Valentine clapped and the ghost disappeared between his hands. "It'll be here shortly." Valentine took a seat at the small wooden table in the kitchen across from Rider. A moment later Valentine struck the tabletop lightly and the spirit reappeared, bringing with it an assortment of sandwiches and a twenty four pack of beer.

"You fool," Valentine sounded annoyed as he addressed the ghost. "I told you _wine_. Not beer."

Rider's uproarious laughs filled the kitchen.

"Well then, thank you for the meal, Archer!"

For a while the two Servants ate and drank, exchanging small talk about the War about their experiences in their new surroundings. Waver sat awkwardly to the side, listening in to the conversation and nibbling at a sandwich.

Finally, during a lull in the eating, Rider spoke. "As enjoyable as our meal was, Valentine; what did you wish to speak of today?"

The President coughed and looked embarrassed for a moment. "I need a place to stay…"

 **AN: Impressed that I updated so fast lol. Too bad I don't get many followers/reviews/etc…**

 **Now that many of the Corpse Parts have been introduced, here's a place to track them.**

Left Arm: Rin Tohsaka the Kid

Heart, Legs, Ribs, Ears: Funny Valentine the Archer

Spine: Jean-Baptiste Grenouille the Caster

Right Arm, Head, Eyes: Unknown

 **Casualty list-**

 **Tokiomi Tohsaka: technical suicide**

 **Kayneth Archibald: gunned down by Spy**


	7. Prep Sprint

"They fly towards grace." Rider spoke with a smile on his face, a small dose of contentment.

The pair sat on the roof of the Mackenzie's home, watching Waver struggle with bringing Valentine's luggage into the home, the boy couldn't even use magecraft to expedite the process of moving the luggage as the Mackenzies had come back home. Rider had insisted that every courtesy be extended his counterpart, citing that it was a 'King's duty to look after their guests'. If only the conqueror would realize that he didn't exactly have any slaves to order about, except of course, his 'Master'. Valentine had offered to pay a honest price in order to rent out a room; but Rider wouldn't hear of it, and when the elderly couple who actually owned the house had come back, they had quickly brushed off any mention of money, extending her hospitality to the former President in a heartbeat.

"What do you mean, Rider? The birds or the planes?" They were looking at the afternoon sky, black shadows of seagulls and buzzards painted against the purple sky, soaring high above Fuyuki City Municipal Dump in the distance.

"The planes. Could you even have imagined it during your life? The men and women of today could circle the world and count the days on one hand. During my campaigns, it took me years to cross just a fraction of the globe. And here it is commonplace. Humanity's collective achievement. Greater than any magic or deed of Hero. The world is in their hands."

"We're just as alive as any of them, Rider. Have we not bodies? Can we not think and eat as we did in our lives? Having been summoned here was for the best. Us Servants are the greatest individuals humanity had ever produced. It seems fitting that our shells match our characters. No real need for rest or waste or any other the other inconveniences that humans must deal with."

Rider cupped his head wistfully and sighed. "And yet, we are tied to our 'Masters'. Dependent on them to stay grounded in this world. A King should be beholden to no man," he turned his head towards Archer, staring, questioning. "How did you do it? You killed your Master and yet you don't seem worried at all. I know the Archer class tends to have the ability of Independent Action, but the duration that a Servant can stay separated from a source of mana is typically very brief unless they are in some way divine."

Valentine closed his eyes and placed a hand on his chest. Over his Heart.

"I haven't told you of the service I will be asking of you as per our agreement, correct? I yield the Grail and you assist me in searching for something… The agreement where we decided that we are equal representatives of our respective countries."

"That is correct. I have been curious for a some time now; what could drive a man to simply yield the opportunity of a lifetime to another? You don't seem like the type to be playing a game of tricks and cunning, Valentine. You have honor. You are a man of your word. I know that our agreement is not a ploy so that you may seize the Grail for yourself. You're uninterested, or at the very least, not as interested in victory as you could be… and I believe it has to do with why you're able to stay materialized without a Master."

The president nodded and tightened his tie. The truth about his goals would have to be said at some point. He would have prefered to keep the Corpse a secret, even from Rider, his ally, but it was unavoidable. To gain the Iskander's trust and assistance in the War and life afterwards, a degree of openness was needed.

"What I search for Iskander, is a Corpse. The body of a Saint, preserved for two millennia. I have collected nearly half the body so far, but the other Parts elude me. The Heart, the Ears, the Legs, the Ribs," Valentine touched the points of his body as he listed the Parts in his possession. "The rest has been scattered around the world for me to find."

"A dirty business. Whose Corpse is it that you're looking for, and why?" Iskander crossed his arms and frowned. The idea that a human Corpse be treated with nothing less than dignity was almost insulting to him. There was that age old story where Achilles had dragged Hector's corpse around the walls of Troy. This was similar, and felt almost sinister that Valentine be searching for the remains of a human being, no matter whom it may be.

For a long time Valentine didn't speak. There was a smile playing around his lips and Waver called angrily that he was finished with his task. "You spoke of divinity earlier."

"I did. Are you saying that the Corpse you are searching for is that of a God?"

"You're close."

"The descendent of a God? They may be rare, but they do happen…"

"The Corpse is God. The Corpse is Justice and Goodness and Fortune and Fate… and it will be mine, as it was before I passed."

* * *

Saber flinched as she stepped out of her bed. The soles of her feet had been burnt off during her encounter with Caster. The flames had heated her armor to such temperatures that the metal had been glowing as if it were made of star plasma, red and gold and eerie shades of green, burning away at the heavy cloth that made the armors dress and her clothes underneath. Once her skin had come in contact with that sort of heat… even the magical protections afforded to her as a Servant couldn't save her. The only consolation was that Caster had been terribly injured by Lancer…

She grunted and finished dressing herself manually. Doing so magically would likely have sent her into shock, her skin was so sensitive, newly grown and soft as baby flesh. It was like feeling the world for the first time. All so clear.

Her intuition told her that Master were home, likely sitting in a rare moment of relaxation if her intuition was to be trusted. She made her way to the dining hall, each step a burden as her clothes shifted against her skin, causing lances of pain and phantom burns to crawl through her twitching muscles. She remembered Irisviel who had been shot thrice in the chest, almost certainly dead before Avalon had healed her… she hoped the girl was okay, they had grown close in their time together and Caster's raving demands had implied that he would be gunning for Irisviel instead of the other Servants. Dishonest and even less honorable. She _hated_ that man, Caster. For fooling her and for defeating her and because he put the War at risk with his foolish arsons and kidnappings of young girls. His callous hatred of humanity and strange demeanour… how was that man even considered a Heroic Spirit?

"Master." Saber nodded respectfully towards Kiritsugu, not showing an ounce of reluctance. "Might I ask where Irisviel is?"

The Magus Killer didn't even look up from his newspaper. "She's in her room."

"And Miss Hisau?"

At this Kiritsugu did look up. Saber saw the sorrow on his face, the face of a man torn between love and duty. She had seen the face many times in the mirror…

"I don't know. She hasn't come back yet." There was more emotion in that moment than Saber had even seen the man express. "Do you… what happened yesterday, Saber? With Maiya and Irisviel and whoever attacked you, how did everything go so wrong?"

' _Why weren't you there to protect her?'_ Went unasked.

"The plan that Irisviel thought involved the three of us splitting up to find the intruder faster. I don't know what happened with the other two, but I can tell you what I encountered."

Kiritsugu nodded silently for her to go on.

"After a while of searching I met a man whom I believe to be Caster. I quickly defeated him, he proved be of no match for me in combat, but when I drew closer to execute him… he caught me off guard. Some sort of spray he had with him summoned insects all over me to bite and sting."

"Insects you said?" Kiritsugu went back to his newspaper in a rush. "I suppose that confirms it then. Caster is responsible for the kidnappings as well as the arsons," Kiritsugu handed Saber the paper, an article reading that twenty people, all of them either gradeschoolers or girls between the ages of fifteen and nineteen, had been kidnapped over the past two days. Their families found either burned alive or stripped to the bone, not even blood left behind. "I know you've suspected for a while now, but this confirms it. Insects could have done this, but your magic is likely the reason why you haven't suffered the same fate as his other victims."

"Then our course of action is to remove Caster then? The mediator—"

Kiritsugu shook his head. "The mediator has given us an opportunity to make a decisive move towards victory. Caster and the Command Spell being offered as reward for removing him will serve as bait. Leave Caster be, the other Servants and Masters will flock to him, and we will strike then. Don't try and take out Caster alone. He's too dangerous as it is."

Saber ground her teeth. The idea of letting that madman prance about and do as he pleased didn't sit well with her. Caster was _dangerous_. And left to his devices would likely grow into an even bigger threat, and that wasn't counting the huge body count the Servant seemed to be leaving behind. Her duty as a King was to protect the people, her honor demanded it. Yet here her Master was, sitting in his castle, unwilling to put a stop to the senseless violence, the killing.

"Have you no conscience? You will leave dozens to die at the hand of a mad man?"

Nothing.

"Families like your own are being targeted and you will do nothing?"

Silence.

"Children as young as your daughter—"

"That's enough, Saber. If you have time enough to make moral judgements, spend it _protecting_ Irisviel instead. Don't let her get into dangerous situations." Abruptly Kiritsugu stood to leave the room but the sound of a slamming door echoed through the empty house. "Looks like Maiya's back. Keep Irisviel busy for a while. I need to talk to my student in private."

Saber, wanted to say more to try and convince her Master to allow her to go after Caster, but obeyed nonetheless. She trod up the stairs quietly, intent on hearing from Irisviel what had happened to her, and most importantly; who had shot her.

* * *

Maiya Hisau fell to the floor. In her right hand, the one still serviceable, she held a bloody scrap of flesh and skin complete with five nails, still attached to their cuticles. Her left hand… it was bare. The skin and flesh over the bones had been shorn off in one clean piece. The scrap of flesh she held in her right was the covering of her hand, bloody and empty, turned inside out. A degloving injury. A huge avulsion of flesh against flesh. Stripped and flayed from the wrist down. The bone showed and whenever her left hand twitched in pain, the tendons and ligaments, white ropes shiny and greasy against the crusted wasteland of her bare, bloody hands, jumped and flinched.

A pattering of steps and a concerned yelp came from the main stairway. Tired and distracted by the aching of her naked left hand and the squishy horror in her right, she only gasped out her teacher's name. "Kiritsugu…"

Kiritsugu cursed and grabbed Maiya by the shoulders, preventing her from collapsing. His eyes grew wide at her injury, but he had seen worse and gone through worse. She wouldn't die; Avalon was with Irisviel and could be used to heal the limp remains of her hand. But before that came business…

"Kiritsugu, please. Help me. My hand. I had to—"

"Tell me what happened Maiya."

"My hand. Please."

"Later Maiya," a part of him felt guilty at withholding treatment from his own student, but it _had_ to wait. Irisviel had been certain that Maiya was the one to have shot her, and Irisviel had no reason to lie. His wife didn't know everything about he and Maiya after all… "Just tell me what happened first."

And Maiya told her story…

* * *

Perhaps half an hour after separating with Irisviel and Saber, she heard a rustling in the bushes, too loud to be from anything other than a human sized animal. Quickly, she leveled her gun and prepared to shoot, calming her breathing and steadying her nerves, fighting the twitchy energy that the adrenaline was affording. The visibility was remarkably bad. Sparse moonlight was mostly blocked by the fog, and the little light that did manage to shine through was weak and sent weak shadows, entire forests of incorporeal tree branches scattered through the forest. The world seemed blue and ghostly. Her finger on the trigger…

Saber stepped out of the bushes, looking haggard and worn. "Maiya?" She asked in confusion. Her invisible sword was drawn and the Servant seemed tense. "I thought… have you seen a man pass through here?"

Maiya sighed in relief. It was just Saber.

"What did he look like? I haven't seen anyone pass through, but I'll make sure to be on the lookout."

Saber hardened her eyes, looking every bit the King she claimed to be. "A bit taller than you. He had a mask on his face and wore a suit. We fought for a little so I know he has a knife and a gun… I think he's a Servant."

The description dug up memories that were not quite fresh and not quite old and buried, but ones that Maiya remembered very well. That night on the rooftop, after she and Kiritsugu had had those wonderful moments together… they had been watching the battle between Saber and Berserker, scoping the scenery, hoping to be able to snipe one of the Masters and remove them from the War early on. Yes, that night had been wonderful until the Masketta Man came…

"He's Assassin. Kiritsugu and I were attacked by him the night you fought against Berserker." The man had put a knife down her throat ever so delicately, just a slight twitch of the hand would have killed her then and there.

Saber nodded and sheathed her weapon. It was strange to watch an invisible sword sliding back into its scabbard, and even stranger to hear the slide of metal on metal. "If Assassin is that dangerous, we should regroup." The Servant motioned Maiya over. "Come, let's find Irisviel."

Through the dark forest full of creeping things and the slow chirps of grasshoppers, dazed by the approaching cold of winter, Arturia and Maiya searched for Irisviel. There was a killer in the woods and it would be best to be careful.

"From what Kiritsugu and I know, Assassin seems to have the ability to make himself invisible. That's probably why you weren't able to track him." Maiya spoke quietly to break the silence. "Coupled with his Class Skill of Presence Concealment, it's no wonder that he managed to evade you."

Saber turned and a heavy, gauntleted fist impacted against Maiya's face, causing the woman to crumple to the ground, unconscious. Quickly the Servant patted Maiya down, pilfering her pockets of anything helpful, knives and gun and cellphone. A cloud of smoke, tinted red and charged with electricity grew around Saber and obscured her for a moment.

"We meet again Miss Hisau." The voice coming from the cloud of smoke was smooth and sly and male. Familiar and French and full of danger. A suited figure stepped from the smoke cloud, unmistakable for anyone besides the Servant Assassin. From his pocket he took a pair of handcuffs, steel and gleaming dully in the faded moonlight. One ring was clasped around Maiya's limp wrist tightly enough to cut circulation. Even if she broke all the bones in her hand, the woman would not be able to take the cuffs off.

Assassin stood, propping the woman up with one arm, and with the other, he attached the other end of the handcuff to a thick tree branch some seven feet off the ground. _Fraxinus lanuginosa_ , the Japanese Ash tree; they make baseball bats out of its wood… she wouldn't be getting free anytime soon, not without external help or rather drastic measures.

The pain woke her from her stupor. Assassin let her body go limp and she jerked a short distance before the short metal chain of the handcuff went taut and the cold lip of the cuff began to dig into her skin, bruising and cutting. Maiya screamed. Her feet were a good foot and a half off the ground and the only thing keeping her up was her hand and the firebrand of pain circling her wrist.

"Saber? What just—" her stomach dropped and for the briefest of moments the pain in her hand was forgotten in lieu of complete and utter terror. "You, you're that man from before… Assassin." It was strange how much fear the Servant's Class title could inspire, but Maiya had met this man before and she knew how dangerous he was…

"The Servant of the Assassin class, also known as Spy, at your service." The Servant lit a cigarette and made a theatrical bow. "I apologize for the deception, but my Master was insistent that I cause as trauma as possible today. I usually don't take jobs to harm women and children… but that is because they are usually harmless. You are not harmless." Spy grabbed Maiya by the hips, ignoring her flailing kicks and her cruelly toward the ground. The handcuff bit in even deeper and the flailing stopped. There came only pained gasps now.

"Why… why are you here? Why haven't you killed me?"

"I know it's unprofessional, and believe me, I _hate_ being unprofessional; but my Master wanted me to do this. Can't say I don't enjoy fooling people though…" Spy reached up with his cigarette and put it out against the tender skin underneath her eye. The ember and ash smoked as her flesh burned away in a small, dirty circle. "My Master is quite the character. He doesn't know it, but he's a sadist of sorts. He's looking for the other girl right now… neither of us are looking forward to fighting Saber tonight, but Lady Einzbern should be an easy kill. Naive and far too trusting. Even a woman as yourself, a hardened killer, was fooled."

Maiya wrenched her head downward and spat a thick globule of phlegm at the Servant, scoring a clean hit on his forehead.

"Fuck you." She said with uncharacteristic vehemence. "You're—"

Spy punched with considerable force, cutting Maiya off mid sentence and winding her. The impact pushed a bit, and she began to swing back and forth, the handcuff biting deeper every moment, touching bone now, cutting through muscle and gristle.

"Think about it Miss Hisau. Isn't this the best possible outcome for you? I will kill Irisviel von Einzbern and if somehow you manage to get free before the birds come and peck out your rotten eyes; you will have Kiritsugu Emiya to yourself. Surely he won't refuse you with his wife out of the picture… perhaps I'll ruin that for you as well. Emiya wouldn't accept you if he thought that _you_ killed his wife, would he?"

He let out a peal of cruel laughter and disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving Maiya alone in the forest, handcuffed to a tree with no tools or hope of getting free. The only thing that Spy had left her was a choice between waiting for help or escaping to potentially save Irisviel. A part of her, a dark, jealous part of Maiya's psyche whispered that it was for the best if she waited. That Irisviel could take care of herself and that if she died, nothing of any real value would be lost. Kiritsugu would be saddened of course, but once Maiya got free, she'd be there to comfort him…

No, despite how badly she wanted her teacher for herself, she wouldn't damn Irisviel to die early. It would disrupt Kiritsugu's plans, but even worse it would hurt the man in a fundamental way. She couldn't live with that. To hurt the one you love in order to be with them… it wasn't worth it. Not to Maiya.

She kicked her legs out and bit back a scream of pain as her rocking, swinging motion caused the handcuff to shift and cut even deeper. Perhaps half an hour later she swung again and this time blood began to trick down her arm, soaking into her sleeve, warm at first, and then dry and cold as it clotted in the air. She tried again, this time putting all her weight on her wrist. She fell half a centimeter closer to the ground and began to cry. Not out of pain, but as a bodily reflex to the damage she was doing to herself. The adrenaline coursing through the branch like arteries and veins of her bodies, fueling her conviction and dulling her nerves focused her mind as sharp as any knife or arrow. The totality of her being was focused on getting clear of that handcuff. Even as the flesh surrounding the bones of her hand peeled in one huge, glove like piece and blood dripped from her upraised hand down her arms and into her face only to dry into a hard crust of red powder, Maiya persevered.

Five hours later, dazed by blood loss and the loss of adrenaline, Maiya had a centimeter left to go before she would be free of the hand cuff. She hand dropped down millimeter by millimeter and the cuff was firmly stuck behind the ridge of her knuckles now. The bony protrusions of her carpal bones had been shorn away by the hard steel of the handcuff, now colored an angry shade of red. She was so, so tired… One final kick of her legs and she was free. The tatter of flesh left on her injured hand slipped in one smooth motion and was pulled completely off by the force of her falling to the ground. Her nails were no longer on her hand. Her _hand_ was no longer on her hand. Just bone and raw flesh, pearly white ligament and tendon. Maiya shuddered and steeled her mind and took tottering steps in the direction of her salvation…

* * *

Risei was frowning. His son looked far too calm, too composed at the news.

"Did you hear me correctly, Kirei? Tokiomi is dead."

Kirei sighed. His expression was steady and unflinching and slowly turned into one of loss and sadness. "I heard you father. I just… don't know what to feel. It's surreal to think that he's gone so soon."

"And what's stranger is that Valentine is nowhere to be found. His presence still lingers, and he is a participant of the War, but I do not know his exact location."

"If Tokiomi-sensei's Command Spells are still around, we can use them to summon Archer, can't we?" Truthfully, Kirei didn't feel much towards his teacher's death. Only a slight disappointment that he hadn't been there to watch.

Risei nodded. "We could… but the Command Spells have been destroyed. Even Tokiomi's body is gone. As Mediator of the War, I can sense how many Command Spells are left, and Tokiomi's are not among them. They are lost for good."

"Then what would you like me to do?" Kirei asked his father, doing a fine job affecting the emotions of drive and righteous purpose that would have been missing in his tone otherwise. It was important to seem interested and well-adjusted, if only for his father's continued support.

"For now, we will keep this information between the two of us. If his wife and child were to find out, they would almost certainly want an investigation done. As cruel as it sounds, we cannot afford to waste time worrying about this. Caster has been much to active recently. A dozen odd people died yesterday and I'm having to work tirelessly to make the deaths look more mundane… and even that doesn't stop the newspapers from exaggerating or sensationalizing the deaths." The priest began to speak as if he was preparing to bestow a great honor, and took a deep breath. "Kirei, I know that we agreed that Tokiomi would win the War… but with him gone, you need to take his place. The other Masters are too erratic, their wishes will tear this world apart. Can you do it?"

He most certainly could.

* * *

"Well done, Pyramid Head…" Kariya stepped into a huge chamber, strangely clean and dry and smelling just fine, even though he was currently dozens of feet underground, exploring the Fuyuki City Sewer system. With the bounty placed on Caster's head, Kariya was determined to win the Command Spell. He only had one left, after all. Ordering Berserker was a difficult thing to do. The Servant hardly seemed to notice Kariya unless the Command Spell was used or threatened to be used, but since he only had one left, the threats were growing weaker and had less weight to them.

Still, Berserker had done a admirable job so far. Kariya had told the Servant to "find Caster" and the Servant had obeyed, leading Kariya on a multi-day, city wide search leading from the beach, where Berserker had destroyed a beach house and uncovered a pit full of human corpses while Kariya had been doing his own searching. And now Berserker had led them into the sewers and to this underground chamber.

"I won't pretend to know how you did it… but good job finding this place." Just hours ago, after filling a bag full of supplies and food, Kariya ordered Berserker to find Caster, and the command seemed to have worked well. Berserker had led him straight to the underground chamber, a laboratory of sorts; and although it was empty, there was a huge magical signature in the air, so heavy and strong that even a novice Magus like Kariya could feel it. No other Servant could muster such a presence. This had to be where Caster was staying.

He coughed and spat blood. Zouken had told Kariya that the Crest Worms would boost his magical strength at the cost of his health, but Kariya had been expecting much more pain. Ever since that terrible dream he had the week before, the one of the town of Silent Hill, where the Sakura in his dream had been skinned alive by his own Servant; the Crest Worms stopped hurting. There were certainly negative health effects the Worms caused such as internal bleeding, but no pain.

It seemed that Pyramid Head had already anticipated Kariya orders. The crazed Servant had begun to trash the chamber, knocking over shelves of expensive looking ingredients, labeled in minute chicken scratch scrawl in French and Latin. All sorts of strange apparati, colanders and distilling pots and things that Kariya couldn't even begin to name were destroyed by the broad arm strokes and knife swings that Berserker seemed to favor. It sounded like a ceiling of glass falling to the earth when the shelves fell and the glittering pots and flacons of crystal broke like a new winter's snow. It would have been beautiful if it didn't smell so damn much…

"Berserker! Come here," Kariya waved his arms and threw a loose brick at his Servant to draw attention. Most times the hulking Pyramid Head didn't even turn at his Master's words unless something more drastic was done to get his attention. "Open those crates. I want to see what's inside of them." It was potential information on what Caster was planning after all. No stone left unturned.

Pyramid Head grunted and walked over to the wooden crates. With a careless flick of his arm, his great knife was embedded into the old brick floor. A second later the boxes were broken open by Berserker's massive strength and bodies, dozens of bodies spilled to the floor.

From one box issued a stack of corpses, the bodies of children. Young children. Boys and girls still in grade school. Not yet old enough to have had their first kiss or to know how to tie their shoes. The type of children who still needed chaperones to walk home and wore bright yellow slickers on rainy days so that cars could see them better. Small children around the age Sakura was.

The next box held girls, all of them remarkably beautiful in an austere sort of way. Every inch of their bodies had been shaved down to the fragile skin and they were marred in no way. If it weren't for the slight smell of corruption that issued from the pile, Kariya would have thought them to be sculpted of marble. What the hell was going on…

Kariya thought back to the message that the Mediator had sent to him, to all the Servants. He was here because Caster was a menace to the mundane society in addition to the participants of the War. He had thought that Caster's crimes would have ended with arson, as the letter had stated, but it seemed that the Servant was far more unstable, more dangerous than he had anticipated. Mass murder. Infanticide was the wrong word, but it was the first to come to mind. The children had all been brutalized, torn apart and beaten into bloody, dirty messes. A stark contrast from the young women who seemed so perfect that they might have been frozen in sleep.

His Servant seemed to be overjoyed. Growls of happiness echoed in the vast underground room and he took up his knife once more, smashing bodies apart with the blunt blade. A giant cracking bones to make his bread, like that old fairy tale…

"Stop it. Berserker, stop it!"

The Servant didn't stop. Again and again the knife came down and old, thick blood spattered against the walls and Berserker's dirty smock. It dotted his arms and bare chest. More like jelly than any liquid and it stank of something rancid and dark.

"Berserker!" Kariya picked up another brick and threw it at his rampaging Servant, almost falling to the floor as the world seemed to tremble under Pyramid Head's ungodly strength. "Fuck!"

The brick left his hand, and for a frozen moment Kariya watched the red stone fly its arc and hit Berserker in the head.

Pyramid Head turned with such vigour that a wind began to whip around the room, knocking shards of glass and broken stone and bone fragments and mists of blood into the air in a strange and morbid haze. The knife was in his hand and Berserker swung with the force of a hurricane and narrowly, purposely maybe missed Kariya's head by perhaps a half a foot, sending stone and floor bricks flying.

"Fuck!" Kariya flinched and scrambled to his feet, running toward the wall. "Alright, alright! Just calm down!" He ducked under Berserker's flailing limbs and dove for the ground. "Please just listen for once!"

A hitching sort of snort issued from behind Pyramid Head's mask, and the Servant turned back to the pile of bodies, continuing to butcher them, rip them apart and fill the room with the stench of corpse rot and the grooves of the brick floor to run with old blood sludge. Soon enough, once the cadavers looked little more than ground beef or shredded lunch meat, the Servant stopped and stood stock still, staring at this Master who seemed ready to retch.

"God, why'd I get stuck with something like you… why not someone who _actually listens to me?_ " Kariya grasped at his head in frustration. "That was completely unnecessary! I know I told you to trash this place, but those corpses used to be people… they're just kids, man. Their mothers and fathers are probably looking for them, worried out of their minds! Everytime they turn on the television or read a newspaper they're going to hear about the sick fuck who's been doing this and they're going to wonder: _where is my child?_ "

Berserker kicked forward a human skull with surprising grace. It rolled to a stop at Kariya's feet. It was unrecognizable with blood and much of the face was missing, cut away by Berserker's knife…

"Is this supposed to be some sort of peace offering?" Kariya asked sarcastically. "You're not making things much better, Pyramid Head. This is totally fucked up."

Berserker stepped forward and shouldered his knife, showing that he was finished and ready to leave. He really was like a huge, violent kid… if that kid happened to have a terrible anger problem.

Kariya sighed and stepped into circular passageway that he had entered from. It led back into the convoluted web of pipes that made up the sewer system, but he wasn't worried about getting lost. Berserker would make an exit if he couldn't find one.

* * *

Rin had been confused for a long time, and for many reasons. She had to move, change schools and live with her grandparents. She and her mother had been sent out of the city by her father, something about some War that he needed to fight in.

The second reason being that the Arm she dug up the other day had gone missing. She didn't remember dropping it, and even after retracing her steps she hadn't found it. Had she imagined it? Had she been robbed without even noticing it? No, Rin knew better than that. The only possible explanation had been that the Corpse had simply disappeared. And she had been so looking forward to showing her mother…

The third reason for Rin's confusion was something more sinister. During the brief time at her new school, she had made many friends; among them a girl named Kotone, who she was particularly close with. But they were gone now… the teachers sounded scared and worried but they tried not to mention the missing children, and Rin felt lonely on the playground where now only a handful of children played. There was no one to push her when she wanted to swing. No one to watch and laugh with as they played on the seesaw. Rin was… alone. Her father had left her to fight in some strange War and now, her friends, her _best_ friend Kotone was gone too. There had been talk of a child-killer-arsonist-kidnapper terrorizing the streets of Fuyuki City but surely that couldn't be the case?

But strangest of all was the ghost who had been haunting her for the past few days. A strange figure colored pink and covered in golden damask filigree. The head was that of a wolf, a snarling animal covered in thick growths of coarse fur, frozen in a perpetual expression of hatred. The body was that of a man, or Rin thought it was that of a man. She knew all about the differences between boys and girls, but the ghost didn't seem to have any visible parts to tell otherwise. No one else seemed to be able to see it. And since it wasn't hurting anyone, Rin didn't want to cause a fuss. She assumed, rather astutely for a eight year old, that only magical persons, like her father and herself, would be able to see and interact with the ghost.

The ghost was the only exciting thing to be happening in her dull life. School was boring, easy even, and Rin had nothing to do. No friends to play with and no father to learn from. Homework could be done in a matter of minutes, the hardest part was moving her hand to write the characters needed to answer the basic questions. Most days she just sat in her room, giggling as she watched her ghost dance about in silly ways, even responding at times to her requests. For such a scary looking guy, the ghost sure was friendly…

Rin stood in her room and opened the chest in the corner, bringing out the trinkets and magical artifacts that her father had given her. After that incident where _arms_ had come out of a book and grabbed her, she had been a bit tentative to experiment with magic, but she was _bored_. A fate much worse than death.

In her hand she held the magical compass that her father had given her. The ghost stood to her side, an ever present, ever silent companion that Rin was quickly growing fond of. She was going to find her friends.

* * *

Grenouille had regressed to working out of a backpack once more. His previous hideout by the beach had been destroyed by Berserker, and while he had managed to escape unharmed, it had been shown that his perfumes had no effect on the crazed Servant. Grenouille had been perfectly countered, and could do nothing about it.

So he was working out of his backpack as he had done during his life. All of his innovative perfuming techniques were forgotten and his lab abandoned except as a place to store ingredients and corpses. His old method of slathering fat on cloth and covering his specimens to steal their scent wouldn't yield as much essential oil, nor would it be as high quality, but it was faster; and that was what Caster needed. Speed. No more distractions and experiments and having fun with his Master; even the scentless girl had been put on the backburner. Now was the time for his genius to shine through. It was time to make _perfume_!

He only needed to find five more girls and it would be over…

 **AN: Next chapter: Servant meetings, Rin vs Uryuu, and more. Expect the next chapters to be full of action now that all the preparation is done.**

 **Rin has unlocked her [Stand] through the blessing of the Left Arm!** **More details will follow.**

 **Leave reviews or something if you're reading this. Even a small comment will help me know if people actually spend their time with my work.**


	8. Body Shots

"Your hand is better now." Irisviel spoke and her voice was clogged with emotion. Guilt. "And… I'm sorry for accusing you so quickly. I should have trusted you more. I should have known that you would never, _ever_ shoot me." The worst part was knowing that Maiya had crippled herself out of loyalty. She could have waited for someone to inevitably come searching for her, and would have saved herself much pain and suffering if she had. But Maiya hadn't. She had soldiered on, torturing herself through the hours of the night and sacrificing her own hand to be able to come back and inform them that Assassin was responsible for everything.

"It's fine." Maiya said awkwardly. "He fooled me too. I knew that he could go invisible, but to think that he could disguise himself that perfectly; that was unexpected." But she should have anticipated it. She should have known that the enemy would have more than one trick, she should been more vigilant. Less would have gotten her killed on the battlefield or on assignment. "Next time, we'll be ready. Try and think of some password or something that only you and I and Saber and Kiritsugu will know so that we can verify our identities."

"Alright…" Iri made for the door. "I'll tell Kiritsugu that you're okay now. He should be here soon." She left the room silently and slumped to the ground as soon as the door was closed. What was supposed to be a simple search of the grounds had led to all three of them, Saber, Maiya, and herself to be terribly injured. Saber had been burned, Maiya had nearly lost her hand, and she had been shot three times… without the healing powers of Avalon she would have died. Saber would still be convalescing, and even with her own healing magic, Irisviel was not sure that she could have healed Maiya's degloved hand so seamlessly.

The danger was real. There were people trying to kill her, trying to kill her husband, her friends; and the hopeless feeling of not being able to do anything settled in. The Servants… the Servants were monsters. There was no use in disputing that. Even Arturia, who was so noble and kind and wanted to do the right thing, was an anachronism. She was not meant to be here. None of the Servants were. And yet here she was. Irisviel von Einzbern, a homunculi crafted by the Einzbern family. She was here to fight in a War that no one on the Earth could claim to fully understand; against men and women who were head and shoulders above the rest of the world, able to claim divine lineage or works of that shaped the course of human history. She felt outclassed… she _was_ outclassed. They all were.

* * *

Rin sat as close to the wall as she could. Out in the dimly lit alleyway, old street lights shining a sickly shade of yellow, coppery green, there was a man with red hair leading a group of people. Young women and children, all following calmly like that one story of the Pied Piper of Hamlin… it was creepy to watch them with their glazed over eyes and dead smiles and shuffling, stupid gait. Worst of all was that Rin _recognized_ some of the children as members of her class and one of the women was the cashier at the local general store where her mother had bought candy for her one day… she knew these people and something, _something_ , about the man leading them was off. Could this be the killer that the news had been talking of?

"Come on guys! I said I'd show you some real magic, right?" The leader of the crowd of a dozen or so followers waved his arms enthusiastically and shouted.

The girl, still hiding frowned at the mention of _magic_. Was this the same sort of thing that her father had promised to teach her? Was that magic, the beautiful light show and display of power and wisdom, the ultimate expression of human knowledge and goodness; could the magic that the man was claiming to wield be the very same magic?

Crouched alongside her, the familiar figure of the pink and gold ghost stared forward, its usual fierce expression turned even more hostile, flecks of hot spittle issued from its mouth at every growl. It almost seemed ready to fight…

"Quiet down!" Rin whispered furiously. Even if the ghost could not be heard by anyone else, the noise was unnerving her. Even the familiar beating of her eternal heart felt to be too loud, surely the man would hear her, discover her and take her along… The compass in her hand glowed bright red and seemed to point her in the direction of the ambling crowd of people. There was fear and doubt in her mind that she would not be able to save these people. But near the back of crowd a patch of brown, just ordinary brown caught her eye. It was a shade she had seen a hundred times before, one laden with memories of good times and happy, carefree days… it was Kotone, her best, sweetest friend. And she was in danger…

Instead of thinking, she ran forward, ducking under the limp arms and shuffling legs of the small crowd of people, ignoring the leading man's cry of surprise. She barely noticed the ghost following her, knocking people aside and roaring wolfishly in spectacular fashion. Bloodthirsty noise that no one but Rin could hear. It unlocked something primal in her, a fervent desire to overcome all obstacles and complete her task. The confidence of a lion and ferocity of a wolverine. Rin ran for her friend and grasped her tightly.

"Kotone, are you okay?" Rin asked but the only answer was a low, dead moan. Her friend was dead to the world, less responsive than a rock even. All she did was stand and stare…

"And who might you be?" A voice from behind her. The man who had been leading the group of dazed followers. "My name is Ryuunosuke Uryuu. Are you lost, little girl?"

Rin stood protectively in front of her friend, arms outstretched in a meager display of strength. "Where are you taking these people? Kotone is my friend, and I know she wouldn't just follow a stranger anywhere! What did you do to her?"

Uryuu threw his hands up in a shrug. There was a small bottle in his hands with a spray attachment screwed to the top. "I didn't do anything… don't you know what we all need to breathe?"

Before Rin could even ponder his words, the man pointed the bottle, holding it like a handgun. "We all need to breath, little girl." His face was twisted into a supremely self assured smile and the trigger was pulled. A glossy cloud of perfume floated into being and Rin felt as if she was in the presence of something _holy_ almost like an angel descending to earth, radiance scalding her eyes and the smell of some otherworldly aura filled her body, replacing all anger and discontent—

She was jerked back a meter or two, a smooth, muscular hand around her face, blocking her nose and mouth, keeping her from breathing and breaking her from her stupor. It was the ghost that had been following her. It seemed to glow in the light, and Rin knew that it was more than just some ghost that had been haunting her. It was friendly and it thought for itself, it _existed_ to help her. A servant of sorts that would _stand_ by her side until time died and history faded.

Away from the cloud of perfume and it's beautiful, sinister smell; Rin felt her head clear. There were no more church bells ringing. No choir of castrati to serenade the world. Once the smell cleared, Rin knew that whatever paradise had been conjured up was false. The most beautiful lie ever told…

"I should really name you, shouldn't I?" She spoke to the floating, wolf headed spirit to her right. "But maybe after I beat this guy. I need to save Kotone first."

"Uh… the fuck?" Uryuu stared at his bottle in disbelief, as if the world had betrayed him in the most fundamental way. "Caster said that it would work once someone smelled it… maybe it wasn't enough? The perfume isn't even completely done yet anyways… yeah! That's it! Just not over yet." He turned back to Rin and looked deadly serious. Murderous. "Look kid. You're going to need to come with me now. I don't know what kind of shit you just pulled, but," with a gargantuan effort, Uryuu schooled his lips into a smile again. He reached into his back pocket covertly and palmed a folding knife and expertly opened it. "You want to have fun with everyone else, right?"

There wasn't a chance in Hell that she'd be taking that offer. She didn't quite know what to do, but Uryuu was drawing closer. Taking slow, confident steps with a sadistic grin on his face and spray bottle and knife in hand.

"Come on. Just come with us. It'll be fun."

Rin stumbled backwards and fell against Kotone who had been standing stock still. A bit of drool ended up on the back of her neck, but Rin didn't care. There was less than ten feet between herself and the serial killer and the only thing in the way was her ghostly friend, golden accents glowing in the dim light and pink feeling so, so warm.

When Uryuu lunged, knife poised to carve away at Rin's soft, young flesh and put an end to her short life; she blinked and froze accepting her fate. Calm as a hindu cow. The knife never came and Rin didn't even bleed. The sound of breaking glass and the hard packing of flesh on flesh came and Uryuu fell to the ground, clutching his bruised face. Something had hit him. Not the girl, but something he couldn't see. The rest of the crowd, the dead crowd made placid by the prototype of Caster's _Bottled Love_ , they seemed to not notice his trouble. But Uryuu… he pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the small, stinging cuts on his hand from perfume seeping into gouges made by the shards of broken glass.

"Fuck! The perfume!" Caster had mixed a single drop of his most precious mixture, the nearly finished _Bottled Love_ with a pint of rectified alcohol. Even diluted as it was, the resulting mixture had smelled like heaven and angel feathers… It had been important, a symbol that Caster trusted Uryuu above everyone else. And he had lost it now…

Rin opened her eyes at the noise and was glad to be alive. While the killer couldn't possibly see what had happened, Rin knew that her ghostly friend had saved her. The ghost stood there, snarling and biting at the air with his large, frothing wolf jaws. Like always, the ghost looked ready to kill, but there was a distinct aura of sincere anger emanating from the shade that hadn't been there before Rin had been threatened. But this murderous intent gave her a strange knowledge that she was capable of great things… almost like the world owed her a favor and she was out to collect.

"You fucking kid!" Uryuu yelled and scrambled forward, only for a invisible for to catch him by the throat and fling him backwards into a wall. "What the fuck man?" He rubbed his head and found a trickle of blood. Across the street stood his 'cargo', enough girls for Caster to finish up his potion and some smaller children for his own personal enjoyment. The little girl, the one who had stood up to him, stood protectively in front of the one who was her friend. Uryuu didn't know how, but there was something, magical maybe, keeping him from getting to her. From cutting and spilling her blood and teaching her how the world really was… he cursed once more and ran, cutting his losses.

Rin had won, completely. She turned to Kotone and hugged her. All the while thinking the words _Hungry Like the Wolf,_ the name of her ghost.

* * *

Thankfully, Saber was quick enough to catch Irisviel before she hit the floor.

"Irisviel? Are you okay?"

The homunculus was clutching at her head in obvious discomfort.

"Yes. I'm… I'm fine. But it seems that we have a guest." Hopefully this visit didn't end up like the last one. Maiya and Kiritsugu were gone for the night. Kiritsugu had given some vague reason for it, but Irisviel suspected that he simply wanted time alone. The fact that she had come so close to death and that Maiya had been so badly injured must have sat badly with the Magus Killer.

"Do you think it's Assassin again? That he might be back to finish the job?"

Irisviel shook her head. Even she couldn't detect Assassin's aura; and since it had been revealed that the Frenchman could perfectly mimic others, she assumed that he could mimic their magical signatures, how they 'felt', as well as their appearances.

"There are three of them. We should get ready for a fight, they'll be coming in through the main entrance."

The two women ran to the atrium to greet their guests, surrounded by the gilded walls and warms lights of the wall lamps. Beneath their feet lay a luxurious red carpet that stretched from the top of the staircase to the bottom. A palace fit for a King. Their very own mini-Versailles.

"They're here." And sure enough, a second after Irisviel spoke, there came a sound from outside; the roaring of bulls and spinning of wheels. Thunder shouting and lightning crackling. The doors broke down, smashed apart by the trampling of two huge bulls, black and angry and quivering with power. Rider's Gordius Wheel. A massive chariot pulled by divine beasts. The lightning was said to be the blessing of Zeus himself…

"We're here!" A towering man jumped down from the chariot, holding a huge barrel that sloshed about loudly. With a laugh he grabbed his shorter companion by the collar and dropped him to the floor. "Up, boy! Our hosts have come to greet us already! It is poor manners to not meet them face to face."

But the boy looked sick, his face was tinged green…

Calmly, sedately, a third man got off the chariot. Opting to step off the back instead of jumping the side as Rider did. Irisviel and Saber both recognized him as Valentine, the Archer class Servant. He was dressed today in a maroon suit and matching pants over a plain white shirt. No tie, but two huge diamonds served as his cufflinks. Rider was dressed more casually in a plain t-shirt with a logo on the front, it seemed ready to rip at the seams with every rippling movement of Iskander's muscles.

"Presenting Waver Velvet and Iskander of Macedonia." Valentine made a small bow and smiled. "Thank you for inviting us tonight."

Saber bit back a curse. Invited? They hadn't been invited here! For Iskander's talk of manners and honor, the Servant seemed to disregard what customs he wanted to and keep the ones he liked.

"You weren't invited here." Irisviel put on a strong face. "If you're looking for a battle, I suggest you leave. You're on our territory and Saber and I won't hesitate to remove you forcibly. We might be allies, but we aren't exactly friends."

Archer kept a solemn expression on his face. He more than Rider seemed reluctant to have come, even though, as Irisviel said, he had struck a truce/alliance with Saber. "This is a matter of conscience and worldly responsibility. We," the President said, gesturing to Rider and himself, "would like to know her personal goals upon reaching the Grail."

The two women shared a look before turning back to face their guests.

"I suppose that it would be alright… it's really Saber's decision. If she wants to talk, I won't stop her." Irisviel left, walking back to her room.

The four stood in the atrium. The guests pretending to admire the decoration and Saber debating with herself on whether or not she wanted to speak with her guests. Rider and Archer had both been _rulers_ like she had. The first was an unmatched general who conquered all of the world worth conquering, and the second had ushered a period of prosperity and stability for his country that continued even today. She felt woefully small next to these two men, their time as leaders of their respective countries outstripped her own small success and of course, as far as Saber knew, neither Archer nor Rider had failed as spectacularly as she had…

"Saber, take us somewhere we may talk. I happened to notice a sort of courtyard as we were flying overhead… it would be a perfect place to have our summit!" Rider picked up his barrel and stood waiting. "Let us hurry, the night will not last forever."

Arturia sighed and motioned them over as she began to navigate the empty hallways toward the garden. "Don't order me about, Rider. Remember that you are a guest, and that I am every bit a King that you are." The last part was said with little feeling. Hollow words that only Saber knew to be posturing.

But Rider seemed chastised enough, certainly he seemed impressed that what seemed to be a little girl had told him off. And so he laughed and then apologized. "My apologies, King of Knights. I forget where I am…"

Soon enough they reached the courtyard. An expansive, open air space with four massive pathways making a cross, empty space filled with flora from all over the world kept alive through the cold of autumn by magic. Their soft scents filled the air in the most alluring way… It was a perfect place for a ruler to meet with their equals.

"Where did Archer go?" Saber asked waspishly. They were in the courtyard now, but one of their number was missing. Had Valentine wandered off into the castle without supervision?

Rider pointed at the ground. There was a heap of fabric laying there, limp. Broad stripes of red and white and blue, the blue studded with stars… it was a flag. "He's gone to get chairs."

"How…" Saber thought of words to say but none came to mind. Chairs? Valentine had just disappeared, and judging by Rider's reaction, the flag had something to do with the President's disappearance. Was this Valentine's power? "That's very considerate of him." She and Rider and Waver settled to the floor.

"We'll wait until Archer is back to start our conversation." Rider crossed his legs, and Saber thought he looked absolutely ridiculous in that too small shirt of his. The man pushed the boy sitting next to him forward, that one had said nothing this whole time. In fact, he looked quite miserable… "This is my summoner, and the newest member of my army. Waver Velvet. Boy, say hello."

"Hello…" the magus mumbled his words and blushed. Arturia noticed that he was young, younger than any of the other participants in the War she had seen so far.

"Hello."

They sat there awkwardly, not saying anything further, until the sound of rustling fabric came. From under the flag, straight out of the ground or perhaps from the space _between_ flag and stone stepped out Valentine, and with him the pale, silver ghost that Saber had seen on another occasion. The ghost carried a table with one hand and four folding chairs tucked underneath the other arm. Valentine had in his hands a large wicker basket and a unopened box.

"Food," he announced, resting the basket on the table, "cups for the wine, and a table to eat at." The ghost set the table, silverware and plates and disappeared soon after. The three that had been sitting on the ground joined Valentine at the table and began to nibble at the cheese and crackers and salty slices of salami and other cured meats. The wine was good, if a bit sweet and the Heroic Spirits enjoyed themselves for a short while.

"What was it that you wished to speak about?" Saber wiped her mouth with a napkin and asked. Even though Servants had no need to eat, it was relaxing and enjoyable to be doing so. Especially with people that deserved her respect.

"Let's start with each other." Unlike the others, Valentine had not eaten. He sat with an imperious expression on his face, stern and solemn. "We are all rulers here in someway, shape or form. I'd like to know your thoughts on how a leader should act."

Rider spoke up almost immediately. His grinned widely and laughed. "What a simple question, Archer! A king should be an example for all his subjects. A shining paragon of virtue and strength that the citizens can respect and look to for guidance. It is a King's job to inspire. To love and be loved by their citizens…" Rider looked to the sky as if thinking of better times. "They are your closest friends, and the ones you must never disappoint. The citizens. The average soldier, the baker, the fisherman; they are your flesh and blood."

Arturia couldn't stop herself from speaking. The kingship that Rider had described was _wrong_. So wrong that she couldn't fathom how he could have conquered so much of the world if he had ruled his people so _casually_.

"A king is not a human being. How can you say the things you say Rider? The common person is a monarch's responsibility, I agree, but how could they ever understand you? Their concerns are small and in the grand scheme of things, unimportant. Emotions and attachments interrupt and cloud _judgement_. A king must be impartial and be able to make decisions without being swayed by such trivialities."

Unlike his usual, jolly laugh, Rider gave a bark of derision. "Even a king is not perfect, Saber. What you say of forgetting one's emotions is inhuman."

There was that word. _Inhuman_. Her knights whispering in the hallways when they thought she could not hear. ' _King Arthur has lost his humanity. King Arthur does not understand human feelings.'_

Rider spoke on. Looking uncharacteristically serious. "Emotions are important. Maybe the most important thing for a ruler. To be in touch with one's subjects, is that not what kingship should be? To know what each person goes through, you can understand their pain; and through understanding, you can work towards healing. As king, you are vested power and responsibility that the average man cannot know, but you are still _human_ , are you not? You feel the things that all men feel; love, hate, sorrow. This is something you cannot escape from. The unending legacy of human emotion."

"How will you then punish wrongdoers? Emotions play into sentencing, and things like hate and disgust cripple justice. Will you met out executions over lashings to punish criminals for the same crime if one seems particularly repugnant? And you speak of your friends, of your loved ones; if they were found guilty of crimes against the country, could you swing the sword?" The last bit was particularly poignant, memories of Guinevere and Lancelot filled her mind, and Arturia felt _emotion_ , the very thing that she was rallying against. "A king has so much to do… emotions only make tasks more difficult."

"What do you think, Archer? You have been silent all this time, who will you side with?"

Valentine sat hunched over with his hands steepled in front of his face. Icepick eyes ran from Saber to Rider in slow circles. "Understand that I am no king. My office, my presidency, was a responsibility bestowed upon me by my fellow citizens. They were the ones I owe everything to. Unlike the two of you, I was not born into my rule." Valentine had a burning passion in his eyes. "Saber is correct. A perfect ruler must be able to forget human emotion and deal blind justice. They must be willing to send soldiers to their deaths. They must be willing to sacrifice the lives of thousands to save millions…"

Rider wore an ugly expression on his face, he had been expecting Valentine to take his side, but it seemed—

"But doing so makes you a failure as a human being. Saber is correct that a king is no human. How can they be? A king cannot ever understand their people. They sequester themselves away in gilded castles of stone away and far removed from their subjects. Iskander," Valentine turned to his housemate now. "You are a conqueror before you were a king. Men and women today don't remember you for your rule, but for your glory. They love you because despite your royal heritage, you _understood_ people."

"There is a common story told about you. I'm sure Waver here has heard it before."

The magus jolted at the mention of his name.

"Rider's army was crossing the desert. Supplies were dwindling and he sent out a scout to find water. Horses were dying. Men had their feet burned by the sunbaked sand. Water had been rationed to less than a mouthful a day. Men killed their mounts and mules, pretending that the beasts had died of thirst, so that they could butcher them and drink their blood. The Conqueror was aware of this, and despite the fact that killing an animal belonging to the army was a crime, Iskander turned his head, or otherwise feigned ignorance."

Rider nodded. He knew this part of his campaign well. How could he forget those days so blisteringly hot that it seemed that the sun was hanging just above their heads. Metal and leather burned to the touch. His body, the bodies of the soldiers had forgotten how to sweat in that dry Hell. And the bone chilling nights where the soldiers had marched, falling over in exhaustion and hunger, their horses all killed for food or dead in the sun. The wagons broken up, useless, dead weight without the beasts of burden to pull them… and a hundred miles left to go. Men had died in that desert and their bodies had never been recovered. Skeletons eaten away by wind and blowing sand, disintegrating into dust. Corpses and cairns of bones in a sea of endless sand.

"The scout that Iskander sent out returned with good news. He had found water at a distance of perhaps a two days march away. And he had also brought back a skin full of water. All for you, his king…" Valentine turned to Saber. "What do you think he did?"

Arturia did not know the story. Haltingly she bit out the words: "I don't know."

"What would you have done?" Valentine asked. Rider looked absurdly pleased with himself and Valentine's knowledge of his life.

"A single skin of water is hardly enough to sate the thirst of an army. Even one person might not be satisfied…" she thought for a moment. "I suppose that I would have drank it."

Archer sighed. "The story goes that Iskander gathered his soldiers and stood on a tall hill with water in hand. He turned to his soldiers and showed them the full, pregnant skin of water and poured some into a cup so that every man would know what he held."

Valentine knew well the pain of thirst and exhaustion. His forty days spent wandering the desert, the place he had first found the Heart was so clear in his mind…

"Instead of drinking he poured the skin out in front of his soldiers and stated that he would be the last to drink. That if his army went thirsty, if his soldiers _died_ , he would die alongside them." Valentine finished and spoke to the sky now. "This is the sort of man that Iskander is. Not a king, but instead a friend to his soldiers. A fellow, trusted comrade. The stories go that Iskander slept in the same tents that his soldiers slept in. He ate the same food, and if a king invited him to a feast, Iskander would insist that his men get the same treatment as he did."

Rider seemed to brush away tears of joy. "Well said, Archer…"

Valentine spoke more softly now, staring straight into Arturia's eyes. "This is human compassion. Empathy that you seem to disregard. The love Iskander's army felt for him far outstrips any loyalty that a knight could have felt for you. He was their equal before he was their king."

Saber sat still for a moment, staring at her lap. She remembered the long days in her throne room, holding court. The men and woman, nobles milling about and whispering, gossiping, all of them snakes, disloyal and power hungry. Her knights off doing their duty, gone for weeks at a time while the quested. A swarm of people around her and she was sitting on a cold, metal throne, utterly alone…

"How about you, Valentine?" She asked quietly. "How do you think a leader should behave?"

Valentine was quiet for a while, even as all the eyes in the courtyard were fixed on him.

"The most important quality for a leader is confidence. There must be no shame, no regret in a leader's mind when they act. Saber… Rider… can either of you say that you never feel shame? Every action you have made, every thought and breath you have taken, must be pure of _Heart._ My hearts and actions have always been unclouded. I feel no guilt, no shame from any of my actions."

Neither of the other Servants said anything.

Saber wondered to herself, staring intently at Valentine. What had he meant by 'no shame'? It was impossible, unthinkable that any person be free of all regrets.

"What do you mean, Valentine…" Arturia felt a strange inkling that although Valentine was speaking broadly, he was speaking with her on his mind. The rise and fall of King Arthur of Camelot…

"Is there any failure in your life that you regret?"

"Of course there is. Every man has regrets. You can't possibly claim that you have none." Even Rider seemed to agree, the massive Servant was nodding silently as Saber spoke. "If you had no regrets, there would be no purpose in you having been summoned."

"You misunderstand, Saber…" Valentine looked quite calm. "The reason that people fail is shame…" the way he spoke and stared directly at her, Saber knew that Valentine was specifically referencing _her_ failure. The downfall of her kingdom, how she had been killed by her own bastard son, the works of her life cast aside… What use was it to survive in legends when her life work had been so easily ruined?

"The reason that people fail is because of the feeling of shame. People die because of shame. _Kings_ die because of shame. When you think to yourself 'what could I have done differently?' or when you wonder if the actions you took were morally 'just' or not; that is shame. That is regret. You feel shame and slowly you weaken. You begin to second guess yourself and you lose your confidence, the drive and ability to **act** that all rulers need. My whole life I have thought of my failures as _tests_ that I must pass to earn my victory. A ruler must never feel shame. They must always have complete faith in their own abilities. All else is secondary."

"Valentine," Rider began slowly, "you told me that you were searching for a Corpse… did you ever come about completing it during your life? Or is that a _regret_. Saber is correct; if you had no regrets, no deeds left unfinished, you would not have been summoned by the Grail."

Arturia was lost. A Corpse? Valentine was looking for a _Corpse?_

"If you must know, Rider. I did assemble the full Corpse during my life. My defeat was simply a test I was not able to pass. I was summoned here to fulfill a duty; not because of any regret that I harbor."

"And what might that duty be?" Saber stood from her seat. "We have milled about this subject long enough. All this talk of rulership pales in comparison to the question that must now be answered. What will you do with the wish that you earn from the Grail? Valentine; all this talk of a Corpse makes no sense in my mind. What are your intentions for the Grail?"

Valentine gave her an askew glance. "I'll let Rider explain his goals first."

Rider stood as well and puffed out his chest, crossing his arms. "With the Grail, I will give myself a human body once more. Then I will set out to finish what I was not able to do in my life. I will conquer the world."

"And you?" Saber turned to Waver who had been listening intently the whole time. "You are his Master, what are your plans for the Grail?"

"I need to win," Waver mumbled, "to prove to my teacher that magi can become powerful and skilled with sheer talent and practice alone. That there is no need for a strong familial history or tradition of magecraft."

"Valentine?"

The president stood and stretched his arms. "I have no real desire for the Grail. All that's needed is the _Corpse…_ That's all I want. That and to gather allies for after the War, where I plan to bring my country, the United States of America, to even greater heights."

"And your Master?"

"Dead." He stated evenly. His expression said it all, Saber knew from that bright glint in Valentine's eye that he had betrayed his Master without any regret.

Arturia sat back down.

"How about you, Saber? An answer to your own question?" Asked Rider.

"Whether or not what Valentine said about shame and regret is correct; I wish to save my country… I am ashamed to say that I ruined it completely." She fidgeted with the hem of her battle gown and spoke in haltering, short phrases. "Understand that I _tried_ my hardest to be a good king. I was just and fair to my subjects, and when applicable I showed mercy to wrongdoers. I led my people against the barbarian hordes who threatened our borders without fail. I brought order and justice to my country just as my father had wanted me to… people stopped going hungry. Houses were built for new families…" Saber gave a hollow, haunted laugh. "And still they spoke about me! Even after all of my success and victory, even after _time and time again_ I shouldered the guilt and burden of sacrifices that _had_ to be made: villages razed to the ground on _my_ order so that the greater good could be prevailed…"

' _But what good is the working for the greater good when you can't even call yourself, think of yourself as good…'_ Saber thought to herself and bemoaned her traitorous mind. Why did it seem to be so hard to forget the past? They were haunting her, Mordred and Guinevere and Lancelot and everyone else, they were haunting her. She saw them in her dreams and while she shed no tears, it felt as if her heart was beating backwards…

"I'm going to wish that I had never been king."

For a minute or two it seemed like the others didn't even breath. There was just a sort of ringing, buzzing in Saber's ear that blocked all sound. It was exhilarating, perhaps the wrong word to describe it, to speak freely and openly. To voice her regrets and shame and guilt; it wasn't any sort of catharsis, but a form of repentance. Punishment and retribution for ruining something that had been so amazing. Her country, the lives of her knights and her wife, _could_ be saved from her ineptitude—

"You're a fool." Rider was speaking now, and unlike his usual laughing, jovial attitude, he was dead serious, almost a little angry even. "You're a fool, Saber. Giving up your kingship? What foolishness! You were born into your role. Responsibility was thrust upon you as it was thrust upon me as it was thrust upon my father and your father and all the kings who came before. You would sully the sanctity of your country's crown, of your own _fate_ to assuage your guilt and _ego?_ "

"You don't understand! I… I gave everything for my country. My humanity, my capacity as a human being! It was all sacrificed so that it could be a better place, a _kinder_ place free from danger; where children could live without the fear of war and death. I would have let the hungry feast on my own body if they wanted; and in the end _it all went wrong!_ Everything I did and worked for up in smoke. War came and I died on a mountain of bodies!"

' _Killed by my own son!'_

"War is God, Saber. You of all people should understand that."

"What…" Arturia could scarcely believe what she was hearing. "What are you saying, Rider? God? War is _hate_! War is what happens when two groups can't hope to understand each other—"

"Then it was inevitable. You've admitted to us that you did not understand your subjects, and that your subjects, even your closest knights, did not understand you. War and strife is inevitable, and it is your own fault that war came, and it is your own fault that you were unprepared." Rider's voice was eerily soft. He was angered, greatly angered. "Worst of all, Saber, is that you are a _liar_." He spat out. "You would use this Grail to save yourself from your own life. One elaborate suicide attempt. Dress it up anyway you like, you don't care about anyone but yourself."

She was about ready to draw Excalibur and leave Rider a pile of ash. "I gave my whole life to other people, don't even _begin_ to think me as selfish." Saber and Rider glowered at each other, daring each other to strike first as Waver pulled at his Servant's arm, telling him to calm down. "I would damn myself to a fate worse than Hell to save them from my own foolishness. My reign as king destroyed my country, without me; it would still survive."

"You think yourself that important?" Archer interjected while stroking his jaw and leaning back on his chair, balancing on the back legs. "Your country has survived, more or less, for nearly seventeen hundred years now; _after_ your death. In the course of its history you are _nothing_. Wishing yourself away won't change anything. What point is there in wishing for your country's salvation if it's already secure?"

" _Great Britain,_ is not the country I ruled."

"Then perhaps it's a good thing that your rule ended in violence. Great Britain is one of the most prosperous countries on earth. For such a small island, its cultural influence is unmatched. The civilized world speaks and writes and thinks in English. Did you know that the British Empire extending from the Orient all the way to the Americas? My country only exists because of Britain, the Britain you believe that you ruined."

"You don't understand, Archer."

"I understand that you are afraid of failure. And that whatever mask of unflinching stoicism you may have worn in life has grown cracked and broken after being faced with hardship. I understand that you are a coward, and that you are willing to lie to yourself to save your pride. You wear your patriotism as a mask to cover your insecurity…"

Before Arturia could retort, a strange buzzing sound came from behind Valentine, and the President gagged, choking out blood, falling to his knees. Behind him loomed a figure hidden by smoke, crimson soaked knife in hand…

" _Surprise."_

Instantly Saber and Rider jumped to the side, the latter carrying his Master easily, getting clear of the danger. But Valentine did not move, a puddle of blood was spurting from his back, the wound so deep and precise that it was certain that his spine had been severed, knife eased quickly in and out of the space between two vertebrae.

"Easier than I thought it would be." As the smoke cleared a man dressed in a clean, coral red suit and slightly darker balaclava came into view. "The strongest Servant, gone so easily…"

Arturia and Iskander both drew their weapons and readied themselves to fight. They instinctively knew that this man was Assassin. Who else could have snuck up on them so easily? This was the man who had killed Irisviel… she would not have been alive if not for Avalon.

Rider looked absolutely furious, even more so than the anger he had shown while berating Saber. The air around him seemed to thicken with rage and mana being expended. "Tell me your name before I kill you."

"I haven't used my name in over twenty years, _before my death_. You can call me 'Spy' or 'Assassin' if you wish to address me…" Assassin puffed on a cigarette, smile visible even with his face mask. "It's good that you've all gathered here. Three dead Servants in a night will put me ahead of schedule."

Before Saber could step forward to attack, Rider blocked her passage with a massive arm.

"Allow me."

Sensing Iskander's anger and watching carefully the dark expression on his face, Saber tentatively nodded and stepped backwards. If anything, allowing Rider to fight alone would give her a gauge on what the Servant was capable of, an advantage for their inevitable conflict.

"Tell me, Assassin," Rider spoke as he took a slow step towards Assassin, careful to give Valentine's dead body some proper space. "Have you ever killed a king? You have the _chance_ tonight, but I will warn you that I will not be your only opponent…"

"Kings die the same as other men. They aren't so brave or special as they would have you think. You'll die as Valentine died. Choking on your own blood. Face down on the floor. It doesn't matter that you're Alexander the Great or that the girl behind you is King Arthur… You bleed, therefore you die."

Assassin was the first to move. A shift of the body and some sort of magical movement of the hand and a revolver was produced, roaring incessantly as bullets raced towards their target. Rider didn't even take a moment to pause. One fluid movement and the world changed, _shifted_. Despite it being night, the sun rose and took its place in the sky, low and huge, its glow magnified by the wavy streamers of heat rising…

" _They're bodies may have turned to ash, but their spirits hear my call!_ Legendary heroes in their own right; these are my brothers! Men and women who gave their lives to serve me! This is my army! _Ionioi Hetairoi!"_ Iskander was suddenly astride a huge warhorse, the wild beast whom he had tamed as a young man, the stallion Bucephalus… and behind him were legions of soldiers, armored and wielding spears and swords, all of them charging and roaring their love for battle, for their king.

Saber stood her ground next to Waver, who was hunched over, holding his head. She hadn't had the chance to tell Rider about Assassin's power of mimicry. A killer of Assassin's level would be able to find a way around an army. She was sure of it…

But maybe, just maybe, she guessed wrong. Assassin was skilled, very skilled. Only wielding a knife and handgun, the Frenchman whirled and dodged, turning invisible one moment and appearing behind the attacker in the next. Expertly placed gunshots rang out in like a drum roll, the Servant able to reload with astonishing speed with just one hand. Helmets rang, some thick enough to protect their wearers, but others merely served as containers for blood and brain to spill into.

Assassin parried a spear thrust and threw his knife into his opponents throat. Despite his skill, the numbers were too much. While he killed one man, the next would already be attacking, and while Assassin managed to bewilder his enemies by phasing invisible or taking the appearance of their comrades, the secret was quickly forgotten and injuries began to stack up. Assassin's crisp suit was now torn and oozing blood from a dozen injuries. Sword strikes and arrow wounds littering his body.

When the cavalry came, Saber knew it was over. Rider leading the charge, a thousand horsemen armed with their stout swords, screaming and whirling like dervishes. Any military commander knew that cavalry would tear apart infantry. To raise the shield and sword against a mounted target tired the arms too quickly, and the added height that horsemen had over foot soldiers extended their range. Assassin never stood a chance. Bucephalus roared forward and Iskander's sword took Assassin's head, sending it flying high above. The body was trampled under the beating feet of the horses and it was over. The soldiers disappeared and the endless expanse of sand that had been Iskander's Ionioi Hetairoi turned back into the cool stone of the courtyard.

"And the coward dies." Assassin's body was unrecognizable as a human being. It was merely a heap of flesh and it did not so much as twitch. "He was skilled, but compared to any of the other Servants… he was weak. I'm sure that you would have put up a better fight, Saber."

"And yet the 'coward' managed to kill Valentine." Saber sheathed her blade and moved towards Valentine's corpse. "I didn't even have the chance to watch our _president_ fight… I wonder what he was capable of?" Arturia remembered the first night that she had met both Archer and Rider. She had rushed forward and cut the tall president in half. The man had somehow revived himself then, so why not now? Perhaps he could only revive himself if he was conscious? It wasn't something worth fretting about. Valentine was dead and as cold as it might have sounded, Arturia couldn't bring herself to care very much. He was simply an ally, and not a particularly good one at that. He had died after all…

"You'll get your chance, Saber." From beneath Valentine's body crawled _another_ Funny Valentine, an exact copy of the man down to the clothes, the very placement of the _follicles of hair_. Just like last time. Valentine pushed aside his own corpse and stood to his full height. Not a single injury marred his body. Arturia gaped and Iskander let out a loud peal of laughter, happy and relieved.

"You had me worried there, Archer! Good to have you back!" Rider clapped Valentine on the back, his anger at Assassin dissipated completely and he was back to his jovial self.

Valentine looked at the ruined body of Assassin distastefully. "And Assassin? What of him?"

"Handily defeated. He was no match for me." Iskander crossed his arms proudly. "I truly believed that you were dead, Archer. How did you do it?"

But Valentine shook his head. He did not look happy.

"Assassin is not dead. I can guarantee you that." The ghost was back now, standing directly behind Valentine, guarding him. "He has the ability to leave behind corpses to fake his death. I witnessed it myself when Assassin and I were allied."

"Why would he come to kill you if you were his ally?" Saber asked. Just when she didn't think Assassin could get any more dangerous, Valentine dropped this bomb on her. Perfect concealment, the ability to disguise himself as anyone, and now the ability to fake his death… for all his dishonest tactics and cruelty, Assassin was a true threat. If Valentine hadn't had the ability to miraculously survive any injury with no repercussion (Saber _still_ didn't know how he managed that); he would have been out of the War for good.

"His Master was allied with my Master. Assassin must have been ordered to hunt me down after my betrayal was found."

"Betrayal? You killed your Master?" Arturia's assessment of Valentine dipped. She had thought him to be honorable, a king in deeds if not in title, but now it seemed that he was just as treacherous as Assassin. Even she wouldn't think of killing Kiritsugu, despite their many differences and arguments.

"He did." Just as Valentine had said, Assassin was still alive. The empty, sultry voice confirmed it. The other three Servants spent a moment looking around the courtyard, but the Servant was nowhere to be seen. Rider held his Master by the shoulder in a protective gesture. This was the terror of Assassin. They knew not where he lurked, nor when he would strike. They didn't even know if they could trust each other… Arturia felt a chill run down her spine.

"Valentine," she began suspiciously. "How do we know you're not in collusion with Assassin? Your death may have been a ploy to escape suspicion! How can we trust you? _You might be Assassin in disguise..._ " Any of them could be Assassin… What about the boy? Waver hadn't done anything that evening, he had been alternatively quiet and cowering; the perfect identity for a killer to assume.

"Or it might be _you,_ " she turned her sword to Rider's Master, causing the boy to sputter in indignation. "You haven't done anything much this evening…"

"Boy, show her the Command Spell. Even Assassin wouldn't be able to mimic that." Rider ordered. Even he seemed to be shaken. This was not like any foe he had faced before. Not a man who could be simply taken at sword point and killed. Assassin was a mystery…

Waver nodded rapidly and raised his hand, pumping magic into the seal and causing to thrum with power. "Is this enough?"

It was enough. Saber turned to Valentine now. "Show us what you did before with the tables and food. Conjuring, is it?"

"Not exactly conjuring." Valentine shook his head and stared cautiously at his surroundings. " _ **Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap!"**_ The ghost responded and touched the floor with a silvery hand. Arturia watched carefully. Her earlier suspicions and theory on the mechanics of Valentine's ability were correct. Through _contact_ , the space between two objects became a sort of portal for things to pass through. A small dog yipped as it crawled out from under the ghost's hand.

"Proof."

Saber was satisfied.

"What about you, Saber?" Rider intoned. "Perhaps _you_ are Assassin in disguise. Maybe he removed you in the confusion and took on your identity. Show us proof that you are who you claim to be."

Saber nodded grimly and concentrated. Her magic filled the air as she called forth her Noble Phantasm, the Sword of Promised Victory… after all, who else could wield that legendary weapon?

It glimmered silver and gold and blue. The beautiful, other worldly blade of King Arthur. She swung it experimentally. Its full potential was still locked to her because of the curse of Lancer's Gae Buidhe, but the other Servants didn't know about that.

" **Dirty Deeds!"** Archer shouted and his protector clapped its hands on either side of his head. To everyone's surprise, Valentine disappeared. And not a moment too soon. A shot had been fired from the other side of the courtyard and passed through the space where Valentine's chest would have occupied.

Saber and Rider both turned, but it was too late. Only a puff of cigarette smoke was visible from where the shooter _had_ to have been. The worst part was that they didn't know if Assassin had left or if he had simply cloaked himself again…

"Damn…" Rider groused, "he is a worthy foe. Boy, stay on guard. It would not do if my summoner were injured."

 _Three_ shots. This time aimed at Saber. She managed to block two, but the third impacted against her armor, denting but not piercing it. The gun that Assassin was using was most likely magical. Saber could deflect machine gun fire with ease, but these bullets were much, much faster.

"Show yourself, Assassin!" Saber shouted. "Enough of this hiding and subversion! You are a _Heroic Spirit_. Act the part! Where is your honor?"

" _Behind you."_

Saber heard a buzz behind her and the swish of the knife cutting through air, yearning for fresh blood to drink… but she was faster than Valentine, and she was expecting a sneak attack like this. She turned quickly enough and Excalibur blocked the knife, easily cutting through the dagger and deflecting Assassin's attack. The man cursed in French and backpedaled. Arturia's next sword swing cut his elbow joint past the bone, causing the forearm to flop loosely and thud to the ground…

A greaved leg caught Assassin in the chest, knocking him backwards over twenty meters, careening through shrubbery and bouncing over patches of flowers and bushes. Saber seemed to glow with righteous fury as she approached the downed Assassin. Everyone watching knew without a doubt that the little girl they had been talking to, secretly doubting and disparaging, deserved the title "King of Knights". Arturia was ready to dispense justice, Excalibur cold and sharp as death itself; Assassin's fate was sealed…

Six percussive bursts rang out and Arturia's sword hand was torn apart; either the armor there was thinner and weaker or Assassin had used a larger caliber firearm. Excalibur clattered to the ground unceremoniously and Arturia gasped in pain, falling to her knees and clutching at her wrist.

Assassin tottered to his feet, woozy with blood loss and pain. His revolver was emptied now and useless. He couldn't reload with just one arm… Now that Arturia was out of commision, Rider and Archer both stepped forward to end the fight. Assassin looked mournfully at his severed arm, more specifically at the watch on the wrist and called out desperately.

"Valentine! I know of the Corpse! I know where you can find it and how it got here." Assassin spoke in a rushed, dangerous tone. "Spare me tonight and I will tell you _everything_. I even know _who_ the Corpse is from…"

Valentine and Rider shared glances, the looking steadily apprehensive as Valentine's eyes widened.

"Don't listen to him, Archer. Remember that he tried to kill you and that he has injured our ally; Saber."

Valentine spoke slowly and deliberately. "Rider, if only you understood the significance of the Corpse… then perhaps you would understand what I feel when the Body is mentioned."

"Valentine…" Saber choked out, "kill him. Don't listen to him. Men like him have no honor, they lie…" her hand would grow back within the hour, but it was still excruciatingly painful to have lost it in the first place. Her surety of victory had caused her to become careless; unnoticing of the way that Assassin cleverly palmed his firearm and drew so, so quickly.

"Any risk is worth the Corpse… you are ignorant, Saber. A deal with the shadiest conman is well worth this reward." Valentine paused his languid gait and turned to his allies, seemingly unconcerned with the high tension in the air. "Move against me and you both will die." The president reached Assassin, the ghostly figure floating low to the ground. "Spy," he stated with much aplomb in his voice, "tell me the truth and you will be rewarded with **life**. I speak truthfully when I say that I have no desire for the Grail. Tell me of the Corpse Parts and I will let you go free…"

Both Rider and Saber reacted physically when Valentine's ghost tapped Assassin on his masked forehead, pushing the man into the ground and following suit just as quick as entering a door. What a terrifying power… to make men disappear with a touch of the hand. Neither Servant understood just what they had witnessed, but it was something dangerous, more dangerous than any military campaign or battle they had fought in. This was Valentine's mysterious power…

With the courtyard partially vacated and combat over, Saber and Rider turned to each other.

"Archer would deal with murderers… sadists. Should we consider this a breach of alliance? He has offered freedom to the man who did _this_ ," Saber shook her bloody stump that was quickly mending itself. "I say we should cut him down the next time we meet…"

Rider shook his head. On his face was an unhappy expression of resignation. "No, Saber. When Valentine and I agreed to our alliance; he gave the condition that this _Corpse_ of his, what he claims to be the Corpse of the Son of God, or something of that effect—"

Arturia felt the world spin when she heard the words _Son of God_. If this was true… if what Valentine had told Rider was true, the stakes were greater than just a Grail or wish to be made; while the rest of them had been scrambling for pennies, Valentine had been aiming for the right to call himself _Messiah,_ savior of the world. Even in the sixth century, when she had ruled, the predominant faith had been Christianity. Saber had even been anointed by scented oils of Faith… Iskander was obviously ignorant, having lived in a period before the birth of Christ, but Arturia knew all too well. To think that _He_ had still existed on the world in such a form…

"—Plenty of men claim to be the Son of God, what makes this particular Corpse so different? It's just another man, a great man perhaps, but still just a man." Iskander rambled on, ignorant of the shocked expression on Saber's face. Yes, Christ was a man, but the scripture told that he was God in man's flesh and man in God's flesh at the same time. The Savior of Mankind. The Healer. Teacher. Miracle Worker.

Saber shook her head dumbly. "Rider… if what Valentine said was true, and if my suspicions are correct… I believe he is **justified** in his actions, as loath as I am to say."

"Surely you do not believe that the Corpse that Valentine speaks of is _actually_ a holy relic? Even the body of a Saint cannot compare to the power of the Grail, surely he is merely deluded?"

…

"I don't know enough about this Corpse to make a judgement, Rider. But for a man as prudent and careful as Valentine to risk everything, his place in this War, his existence as a Servant for this **Corpse** , there _must_ be some truth to his words. And while you might not know of story of the Corpse that Valentine is speaking of… the world has worshipped him for the past two thousand years as a God."

"Jesus Christ," Waver whispered.

Jesus Christ, indeed…

* * *

"God works in mysterious ways," Valentine chuckled, sitting across from an annoyed Spy in the corner booth of a bar. It was midday, and the establishment was empty save for the two Servants and the Bartender.

"Yes, well, _fate_ decided that I lose my hand…" Spy moaned. I can't even feel a link to my Master anymore, what did you just do?" With his remaining hand, Spy pointed to the light filtering in through a dusty window that hadn't been cleaned in years. "Without mana, my hand will not heal and I will fade from existence? Explain to me, Valentine."

"Insurance, you might say. If you try and kill me, you will die without so much a chance to even _see_ the Grail, let alone wish on it." Valentine motioned for the bartender to bring them two drinks. "But I am a man of my word, Spy. Tell me of the Corpse, tell me _truthfully,_ and you will walk free until of course, we come to blows once more…"

Spy shook his head. "I acted on Kirei's orders, Valentine. You know that I wouldn't attack you otherwise. We have too much respect for each other." And they did. Strange as it may have seemed, Valentine and Spy genuinely got along with each other. The politician and the killer-for-hire. The man in the limelight and the one in the shadows…

"Then you should know that this mercy is a courtesy to a _friend_ ," Valentine exaggerated the word and continued, "the Corpse is worth more to me than anything, Spy. Even your friendship pales in comparison."

"Is that why you killed Tokiomi?"

Valentine threw his head back, handsome, golden curls bouncing against the wall. "Of course it is. The fool had _three_ whole parts to himself, ignorant of what they were, only concerned for their magical properties… and of course the Corpse hadn't considered him worthy. There was no connection there. He thought of using the Corpse as a _catalyst_ for a future Holy Grail War! The pomp, summon God himself? Not wise. Not wise."

"Then it is Jesus? No lie?"

Valentine shook his head softly. "To lie about something like this… impossible. The story you may have learned as a child surrounding Christ's actions after his death are wrong, but the Corpse is verifiably that of Christ's."

Spy was silent for a moment and then began to talk, reluctantly. "I'd prefer if you were my ally, Valentine. But so long as you do not interfere with my attempts at the Grail, I will tell you of the Corpse."

"I would have it no other way. The deal I struck with Saber and Rider is similar. I will yield the Grail to whomever is left at the end of the War, so long as they assist me in gathering the Corpse."

After a time of fruitless searching for a cigarette, Spy sighed and put away his case. "What you said about fate… I believe that _Rin Tohsaka_ , Tokiomi's daughter, holds a Part. I don't know if she was _selected_ or what not, but keeping tabs on everyone even remotely involved in the War seems to have proven fruitful. I watched as she pulled a human arm from the ground; one practically oozing with power."

The president nodded his head. "Children are almost always chosen by the Corpse. They are young and innocent at that age. They have little guilt and their goals are sincere, if unrealistic and unclear."

"There you have it then. The Corpse has selected her. How will you take it for yourself?"

"The Parts are attracted to each other, Spy. It is fate that they are united. I don't know how they were scattered so far since my death, or how they got to Japan, but once I approach her, the Arm will be mine," Valentine had a curious look on his face. "Does she know yet of her father's death?"

Spy shook his head in the negative. "She hasn't, and she will be told nothing concrete."

"And of the other Part you claim to know of?"

The killer smiled sadly at his stump. " _Fate_ is funny, Valentine. Another Servant holds the Part, I believe. I have seen Caster holding a _Spine_ …"

And there it was. Already so close to completion, _and_ with a bounty leveled on Caster. The Corpse would be his…

 **AN: Sorry this chapter took so long, I've been very busy recently. The length is good so I hope you enjoy.**

 **Rin has got a Stand called** _ **Hungry Like the Wolf**_ **. Her powers won't be revealed until the sequel to this story, and she will likely not play much of a part for the rest of the story besides Valentine speaking with her.**

 **Note: Remember that powerlevels in Fate are partially determined by how popular the characters are in terms of** _ **fame**_ **. Think about how Iskander and Gilgamesh and Arturia are the strongest characters in Fate** _ **because they are famous**_ **. Valentine is powerful because he was incredibly popular as a President,** _ **and**_ **because people remember him for the Steel Ball Run,** _ **and**_ **because of the huge mystery surrounding his disappearance. He was literally more popular than George Washington, the first president of the US. Valentine's approval ratings were** _ **91%**_ **. Modern America would remember him as fondly as they do Lincoln. If we go by his approval ratings, Valentine, for all his evil ways, must have done** _ **something**_ **to get so popular. It's very likely that he was a legitimately good president, and that he led America into great wealth and power.**

 **Now think about just who the Holy Corpse belongs to. Christianity is the religion of over** _ **two billion people**_ **. And it has been the dominant faith and belief the past two millennia. Even non-Christians respect Jesus as an all around cool guy. Muslims and Jews both believe in his existence and that he was an important messenger of God, even if they don't believe that he is the Son of God. Jesus would be by** _ **far**_ **the most powerful Servant if he was summoned into the War.**

 **With the Corpse on his side, Valentine would get an absurd powerboost. Nasuverse decrees it...**

 **Next arc will be the CASTER arc! Will Grenouille finally get his ass into gear and finish his perfume?**

 **Note: for those unfamiliar with** _ **Perfume: The Story of a Murderer**_ **,** _ **Bottled Love**_ **is my (oh so) original name for the greatest perfume that Grenouille made. A single drop of it was capable of sending thousands of people into a huge orgy, and convinced them all that Grenouille was** _ **divine**_ **and incapable of wrong just because he** _ **smelled good**_ **. A single drop made a father** _ **forgive**_ **Grenouille for murdering his** _ **only daughter,**_ **and made the man love him to the point where he asked Grenouille to become his son. Grenouille states that sending a** _ **letter**_ **with a drop of perfume on it could convince the Pope to declare him God on Earth and that a single whiff of** _ **Bottled Love**_ **would cause kings to kiss his feet.**

 **Imagine what it'll do when enhanced by MAGIC and the SPINE. Grenouille's feats in book!Perfume are what I'm using to base his capabilities on, and his reality bending perfumes are inspired by the psychic abilities of Orks in WH40k (red things go faster than blue things just because Orks believe that red things are faster).**

 **I can't stress enough how it works though, so for a final time, I'll elaborate on Grenouille's powers given by the Spine he has.**

 **Grenouille's perfumes smell like something so realistically that when other people smell them, they** _ **believe**_ **that the perfume is something that it's not. People smell fire and whatever the perfume is on will catch fire, and spread like a real life, burn things like a real fire, etc. Only Grenouille is immune because his sense of smell is so good that he can detect that the perfume is a fake. Even putting on a oxygen tank so that you can't smell the perfume and still breath wouldn't work. If anyone else smelled the perfume, the effect would happen because** _ **someone is believing**_ **it.**

 **Example: you put on a rebreather and Grenouille sprays you with the perfume of fire. You can't smell it and it doesn't do anything, and Caster can't trigger it because he knows it's fake, but the instant someone else is fooled by the smell, you'll catch fire.**

 **As always, please review and such.**


	9. In and Out of Love

**AN: World's largest orgy this chapter. Descriptions of** _ **really**_ **fucked up stuff here. You've been warned…**

" _Dojyaaaaan~"_ like a magician's trick, Valentine stepped out of the ground. "Saber, Rider," he said, nodding to the other Servants, "I hope you haven't been waiting long."

Both kings had their swords drawn, but Archer showed no sign of worry. In fact there was a self-content smirk on his face, as if victory was already confirmed. And of course it was. He knew that the other Corpse parts were nearby. It was simple fate that they come to him…

"You let Assassin go." Saber stated. Her hand had healed completely, and she seemed angry enough to fight. "Even after the man tried to kill you, and after he shot off my hand… you let him go." That wasn't even mentioning the brutality that Assassin had inflicted on Maiya, or the dishonorable ways by which the Servant seemed to conduct himself. "You should have brought him back to be killed. At the very least, it would have been a step closer towards the end of the War."

"You know why I did that I did, Saber. By now you have puzzled together the answer to your question… the identity of the Corpse is no longer a mystery to you. What will you do?" Valentine spoke to both Rider and Saber now, both had that disturbed look on their face that he was familiar with. Most people were floored when they discovered the true identity of the Corpse.

Rider was the first to speak. He looked uneasy but he sheathed his sword back into its scabbard. "I won't pretend to understand everything about this Corpse… but regardless of its identity, I made a pact with you. And I will not break it. The Corpse will be yours just as the Grail will be mine."

Valentine gave Rider a thankful nod and turned to Saber, expression hardening. "And you? Will you challenge me for the Corpse?"

Of course she would. Rider couldn't possibly understand the importance of the Corpse. The Conqueror King had lived in a time before Christ… to Iskander, Jesus was just another man. But Saber had grown up reading the scripture and learning the word of God. She _knew_ of Jesus Christ the Savior. She couldn't just let Valentine take it for himself. No matter how selfless his reasons may have seemed, no matter how _similar_ her own goals were to his, she could not let him have the Corpse. It was sacrilege, blasphemy even, to believe that one could _own_ the Body of God.

"The Corpse is not meant for mortal hands, Valentine. You should know as well as I that what you speak of is madness."

"Not madness, Saber." Valentine was shaking his head now, frowning at Arturia. "You forget that this is not my first time collecting the Corpse. It has _selected_ me to be the body through which God will perform his good works on this earth. It is no more blasphemous than proselytizing or becoming a preacher. God works through us all; some more than others."

"You're plundering His grave, Archer. You're tarnishing a legacy of hope and pacifism for your own personal gain." Arturia's was steadfast and even in her judgement. Besides Berserker, Valentine was the Servant that Arturia was least familiar with. While Valentine was honest with his intentions and goals, there was a certain amount of deceit that Saber detected over the way that he presented his abilities. What sort of Noble Phantasm could manifest itself as a _ghost?_ And that didn't even begin to cover Saber's confusion over what exactly Valentine could do. Out of nowhere he had produced all the furniture and food for their meeting, and that same power of creation had _reversed_ itself when Valentine and Assassin had disappeared into the void to discuss the Corpse…

"A leader must know how to sacrifice the world for his country… you know this as well as I." Valentine said darkly. "God is on my side, Saber. There is nothing that I cannot do so long as the Corpse _favors_ me… and besides, it isn't as if I am the only one here acting for my own benefit rather than the whole of humanity. Rider wishes to rebuild his own empire. You wish to save your country and absolve yourself of all responsibility and guilt all at one. Assassin wishes to take back his life… each and everyone of us are acting for ourselves, Saber."

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Arturia could not argue with that. No matter how selfishly Valentine acted, the rest of the Servants were doing the same. However you might dress it up or try and mask it, they were still human, and they still thought of themselves before others…

But there _was_ something wrong with that, wasn't there? A ruler should act on behalf of their people: that was the first thing that her father had taught her. The best kings are selfless and would die for their subjects… Arturia had always tried to be such a king, but no matter what she said or did, it wouldn't change the fact that her goal was a selfish one. A selfish goal that had no guarantee at changing the course of history for the better. Only her own life was guaranteed to be altered if she made her wish…

Saber stepped back and away, sheathing her sword. "Leave this place. The both of you. I grow tired of talking. I will respect our ceasefire until Caster is defeated, but nothing after. I will take both the Grail and the Corpse…"

Rider and Archer shared a glance before piling back into Rider's chariot. Yes, the war was beginning in earnest now. The next time the Servants would meet would be a bloodbath...

* * *

"Did you see Kiritsugu Emiya while you were there?" Kirei and Assassin sat together. The priest watching as the Servant wrapped bandages around his cut arm. Assassin was slower than most Servants to heal, and it would take a while for him to be ready for combat again.

"No, but I learned much."

"Such as?"

A brief sound of uncontrolled frustration issued from Assassin. "Irisviel von Einzbern is still alive. Three bullets. _Holes_ in her heart and she couldn't even do us the courtesy of _dying_." Spy sounded disgusted and knotted the gauze bandage around his arm with vehemence. "She'll have to suffer before passing this time around. I don't know exactly how she survived; but it won't happen again. I'll _burn_ her alive if I have to. My marks _never_ survive." Assassin quickly calmed himself and stood, flexing his arm tentatively.

"Her husband is the one we should be targeting. The homunculus knows nothing of the world, she wouldn't survive without her husband and Saber to protect her."

"Then the problem is Rider and Valentine. I am almost certain that they have allied against Berserker and Caster for the foreseeable future. It will be nearly impossible to defeat the three. Valentine especially. I still don't quite understand how his ability functions…"

"How about Rider, then? Is his Master vulnerable? With Einzbern somehow immune to firearms and a capable Magus in her own right, I don't know if the two of us would be able to defeat her _and_ Saber."

Spy shook his head. He was cleaning out his firearms now with military precision. "Think harder, Kirei. There are avenues that haven't been explored yet."

Kirei did as told and thought for a moment. "Another Servant," he said. "Berserker—"

"Exactly." Spy nodded quickly. "Berserker is the one we need to ally ourselves with. None of the other Servants can match him in combat, and I believe his Master to be easily persuaded…"

"You mentioned that Valentine allied himself with Saber and Rider? Surely the three of them could defeat Berserker."

"Not with the two of us targeting the Masters. I don't understand Valentine's Noble Phantasm, but it is unthinkable that he be able to match Berserker in straight combat. He showed little combat ability when compared to the other Servants. While they are distracted with Berserker and the ever looming threat of Caster… we will kill both Waver Velvet and Kiritsugu Emiya."

* * *

Caster rummaged through the fallen bricks and destroyed laboratory. Glass particles and dust floated freely through the stagnant sewer air and the stench of his essential oils was heavy and cloying, nauseating almost.

But it didn't matter. The hideout had served its purpose as storage area, and the perfume was finished. _Bottled Love_. A hundred and twenty five milliliters. Enough to enslave the entire universe.

"Oh man! Not again!" From behind, his Master cried in despair. First he had been chased away from his quarry by that little girl, and now his hideout was destroyed! "Why they gotta do this? We haven't done anything wrong!"

They really hadn't. Uryuu was perfecting his art craft and Grenouille had been simply making perfume! He was a perfumer for God's sake! How did they expect him to make perfume if he didn't have the ingredients?

Grenouille sniffed at the air and recognized a faint smell of rust and blood.

"The man who destroyed our last home has struck again, Master."

"Man, that's fucked up… I mean, we're living in a sewer! What kind of guy wrecks a sewer? Think about the toilets and shit!"

"There are people who want to kill us, Master." Grenouille toed a broken brick and kicked it to the other side of the room, the crack of stone on stone echoing loudly. "None of that matters anymore. We're going to be kings of the world." Slowly, he brought forth a flacon of perfume from his pocket. This was every hope and dream in the world condensed and bottled. Fifty golden, amber milliliters of pure _love_. There wasn't enough to put in a spray bottle; and to dilute the pure scent with rectified alcohol or water was akin to sacrilege. This was Grenouille's masterpiece… better than the first time around, strengthened by magic and purified by shavings of the Spine that he held. With this potion, Grenouille would command the love of all the beasts and men of the land and sea and air. Even the farthest reaches of the galaxy would be within his grasp…

"So you're finally done? That took a while, didn't it?" Uryuu made to take the flask from his friend but was swatted away. "I can't even get a smell of it?"

Caster shook his head. "A drop of it on your skin and you'll eat yourself. Whatever is touched by _Bottled Love_ will become divine. The world will fall in love. _You_ will fall in love."

"I've never been in love before," Uryuu said. "Must be a strange feeling."

Grenouille stretched his thin frame, extending his gangly arms and cracking his neck to each side.

"I wouldn't know either, friend." But there was no use in talking about matters as inconsequential as love. It was time to show the world that he, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, was the greatest human being to ever walk the earth. Above the kings and queens and self proclaimed Gods, Grenouille floated higher than even the stars.

* * *

It hit the water without a sound. Black as crude oil in the lovely autumn moonlight. The world began to smile. It began to love. Thousands of miles away, pods of whales and schools of fish felt that one, magical drop of perfume hit the surface of the Fuyuki River. Thousands of miles away, across the expanses of ocean and desert and jagged, cruelly pointed mountain peaks, billions of people shed their clothes and took to the streets, looking for love and acceptance from their fellows. What had once been so hard to find became so, so easy. Freely given love. Real love. More real than what mother feels for child. Stronger than the bond between siblings or the connections of marriage. The people of the world didn't know _why_ , but they knew that for the first time in their lives, they felt real, sincere love from those around them. For those they had never met save for these new, exciting moments of intimacy. An orgy erupted, one that spanned continents and timezones…

Ryuunosuke Uryuu fell backwards as soon as _Bottled Love_ was unstoppered. The slightest whiff of the perfume had been enough to break his mind with tenderness. The first tendril of love he had ever felt in his life ended up shattering his rubber soul with its magnificence. His brain dripped from his ears and eyes at the foot of his Servant, the newly anointed prince of the world.

At another time, perhaps Grenouille would have cared about his dead Master; but now, drugged with power and achievement, he hardly noticed. What had Uryuu been to him? The thought didn't even cross his mind. What was one life to a God?

Across the sleeping city, across the tired country of Japan, the entire populace stood to their feet, wiping sleep from their eyes and walking, running, jumping out of their balconies in desperate attempts to find and hand that _scent_. Mass suicide. Thousands died in ecstasy and those who survived with only broken legs dragged themselves for miles with just their hands, scrambling towards Fuyuki City, their unconscious Mecca. Meeting their fellows on the street, they too felt the tender stranglehold of love…

Throughout the world, love was erupting from one to the other. Man and dog. Dog and woman. Father and virgin son became lover. The priest who swore vows of celibacy sodomized one another and diddled their congregations in exuberant mass ceremonies where they partook in the Eucharist directly from various orifices… This was love, true, real, sincere love. On the streets. On the beaches. People fell in love. Planes crashed as their pilots engaged in sex acts too lewd and terrible to think of. And this all happened far, far away…

It had been early morning in Fuyuki City when the first drop of _Bottled Love_ hit the greasy, polluted surface of the city's namesake body of water. So close to the new center of the world, the _Caster_ that had captured the love and soul of each and every human being capable of smell, the citizens of Fuyuki City marched towards him by the thousands.

Grenouille stood smiling. The river around him had parted, split straight down the middle, creating a huge area of dry land for him to stand in. What fish and aquatic life had lived in the water now floundered on the exposed riverbed, each flop of their scaled bodies meant to bring them closer to the God-like Caster. The trees and plants of the world crept _towards_ him. The very winds and tides favored him, all pointing towards him. Birds began their migrations, pilgrimages really, toward Grenouille.

" _ **Can't you smell that smell?"**_ Grenouille mused aloud as he spied the first of his worshippers approach him. Men and women tore at their clothes, revealing beauty and ugliness alike. Scars and blemishes laid bare before their new object of worship. They screamed in adulation, bearing their love for him, for each other, as they surrounded him, bowing and kowtowing as Caster spread his arms and turned to see the crowds around him.

" _Can you smell what the Caster is cooking?"_

A naked woman, perhaps of about thirty years old, was brandishing her baby, shaking it about to get Grenouille's attention as if it was a poster or rattle.

" _God! Please! My child! Touch my child!"_

Caster smiled and kissed the baby's forehead, sending the crowd into new peals of love crazed screaming. It felt better than last time. Last time it had been so fake. The love of the crowd had been different. Fake. Artificial. When Richis had approached on the executioner's scaffolding, Grenouille had been sure that his time had come. But even Richis had forgotten his vengeance and embraced him. Asked him to become the son to replace the dead Laura, Richis' daughter… one of the fateful twenty five that Grenouille had murdered…

" _Worship me!"_ Grenouille cried to the heavens, speaking to God. " _Worship me! You angels in your seven heavens, worship me! Sing for your new God! Sing for me!"_ The night parted for the sun. Heaven itself bent towards him… but Caster was shining even brighter than the morning star. He was wreathed in his own glory, the power of his perfume, his elevation to divinity, his canonization into sainthood.

" _Bow to me."_

And the world obeyed. Small children were trampled underfoot as the mass of worshippers scrambled to make room to prostrate themselves.

" _Sing for me."_

And the world obeyed. The sound was so loud that it was like the mountains themselves had begun to move, scrap their ancient roots against the surface of the ageless earth.

" _Love me."_

But there was no command needed. Already the world thought him an angel…

Caster threw back his head, uncaring of the warm rain beginning to fall from the cloudless sky. It was one in the morning and the sun was shining brightly. All was right at the top of the world.

* * *

"Archer…" Iskander stumbled from his room, feeling a queasy sort of anxiousness that he was unfamiliar with. "The boy is gone. So are our hosts," Rider fought back an involuntary retch before continuing. "Where could they have gone—" He opened the door to find Valentine in a similar state of nausea. There was a small puddle of yellow bile and vomit on the carpet, staining it a ugly color. "You too?" The acrid odor of the vomit reached him and Rider also expelled the contents of his stomach on the carpet. Servants had no need to eat, but they could still digest…

Valentine shrugged off his coat, for it had been stained with sick, and pulled on a red leather jacket over his plain shirt. "We're under attack. Almost certainly under attack." His stomach convulsed again, but this time Valentine put a hand to his mouth and swallowed the vomit, an uneasy expression of disgust on his face. "And look at the clock, Rider. One in the morning? The sun shouldn't be out." He pointed at the shuttered window, at the sunlight creeping steadily into the darkened room and the birds chirping. "This is almost certainly another Servant's doing."

"Certainly."

The two men took a moment to steady themselves. The nausea never left, but it was buried under determination and a veneer of anger.

In the air, riding, Rider's chariot, the two surveyed the city from their vantage point. An incredible sight. The streets full of human beings. Some nude and rutting against each other, and others running, falling, picking themselves up to vault over the copulating pairs and moresomes to an unknown destination.

"What sort of debauchery is this?" Rider sounded more interested than outraged. "We're never going to find the boy in this mess!"

"Information first, Rider. If this truly is the work of a Servant… we must first identify the _who_ and the _why_ and the _how_. It certainly seems to be a wide range and does not differentiate between _anything_." It truly was disturbing to watch. Even from the air, Valentine with his sharp Archer's eyes could make out the various pairings of the people below. Children with animals… Grandparents and grandchildren together… it was disturbing, highly disturbing, and everything in Valentine's _Heart_ told him that it was disgusting what was going on. But that didn't change the fact that an evil little portion of his brain was telling him to partake…

"You feel it, Valentine?" Rider asked. "The tugging at your mind, to debase yourself like the rest of them… I suspect that we are resistant, but not immune to whatever is causing this debacle. We should be careful not to succumb…"

Valentine nodded, glad that he wasn't alone in being affected. "The other Servants then. We should start with them. Saber, Berserker, Lancer, Assassin, Caster. Which could it be?"

"Who else but Caster? He is the one whose capabilities are unknown. All the other Servants wouldn't fit the bill. Saber is too noble to even be able to think of something like this. I'm willing to wager that once she catch glimpse of this spectacle—"

"Concentrate, Rider. I agree that Caster is most likely the cause of this... but neither of us know what he looks like, or where he could be lurking. Magic is a mysterious thing..." Valentine sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I feel bad for the Mediator. To have to cover something like this up would be quite the challenge."

The chariot banked sharply, the divine bulls stamping at their platform of cloud and thunder. Rider slowed down greatly and pointed to a distant spot in the horizon.

"There, Archer. Do you see it?" Rider's face was grim and pale. "There seems to be the center of it all." And he was right. A throng of humans numbering in the tens of thousands. All of them circling and chanting, waving their hands above their heads in worship. Impossibly, they were caught between two static walls of water. The river was seemingly split in half for a distance of over a mile, the gargantuan volumes of water formed a sort of valley for the worshippers to dance in. Even from the air, through the excited moans of the million or so people below them engaged in lasciviousness untold; they could hear the worshipers on the riverbed chanting.

"Certainly not normal." Rider stated.

Valentine found something terribly sinister about the whole situation. The biblical story of Moses splitting the Red Sea... was this the Corpse manifested? Assassin had spoken of a Spine the night before; had Caster developed a Stand? Had that madman been blessed by God?

"Rider..." Valentine's words were hesitant. "There is the possibility that whoever is responsible for this possesses a Corpse part."

"How do you know this?" Rider asked. He was preoccupied with steering the chariot. The closer they got to the river, the more difficult it became to control the divine bulls; a disturbing occurrence. Iskander was the Rider. To think that there was an enemy that could co opt his prodigious ability to control his mount...

"The Corpse can bestow any number of incredible powers, each one unique from the next. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a result of a Servant discovering a piece of the Corpse."

"And you wish to collect something like that?" Rider said with incredulity. He steered the chariot to the roof of a hotel, the bulls too difficult to control now, and cut the air with his sword, dematerializing the Gordius Wheel for later use. "Is your power due to the Corpse then?"

Valentine nodded. "Yes. It is known as a Stand. Some are born with one, others can gain one through strength of character, and still others are blessed with one through other means, such as the Corpse."

"And is there anyway to counter such an ability?" Rider asked.

"There's no way of telling. There's not enough information on what exactly Caster is doing. All we know are the effects… I think it would be best to gather the other Servants. The War is postponed for the moment anyways. Working together we may discover a way to defeat whoever is causing this…"

* * *

Never truly asleep, always on guard and ready to fight; Saber had no trouble in responding to Irisviel's cry for help.

"Saber! Help me!" Desperation. Irisviel sounded desperate, as if she was straining with something. "I don't think I can hold him!"

But then a window broke, and Saber heard Irisviel thump to the ground. Gritting her teeth, she put on an extra burst of speed, breaking window glass as she passed.

"Iri! What's wrong!" With a slash of her sword, Saber cut the bedroom door of its hinges. "What happened?" The first thing that she noticed was Irisviel, hands bleeding slightly, but already healing. Then the open window and the absence of her Master… "Where's Kiritsugu?"

Irisviel pointed outward. "He jumped."

Saber quickly made her way to the window and peered out. She still felt the connection to the Magus Killer through the Command Spell, so it was a guarantee that Kiritsugu was still alive, wherever he was. And there was no body at the ground, simple Reinforcement magecraft would be enough to survive the three story drop. But where had he gone? And so suddenly?

"Tell me exactly what happened." Saber frowned heavily. Jumping out of the castle for no apparent reason was _not_ in character for her Master. Even if some emergency had arose, Kiritsugu would almost certainly had told Saber about it, since Irisviel's protection was her duty.

"We were sleeping… I woke up when he got out of bed. I asked him where he was going… but he didn't say anything. He just looked out the window for a while and took these, big, heaving breaths, like he was trying to swallow the world. He jumped right after." Irisviel sounded scared and worried, all understandable; but none of it helpful. "Where do you think he went?"

For the life of her, Saber couldn't even begin to guess. Thankfully they had someone else to ask.

"Perhaps Maiya would know," Saber suggested. The two made their way out of the master bedroom, past the broken door, and down the hall where Maiya had been quartered.

But there was no one there. An empty bed and open window, sun shining bright as could be. Had Saber somehow overslept? Sheets all over the floor in a messy pile. Maiya was usually a very neat person, too…

"Something's wrong." Saber stated in her most grim voice. The soft, fine hair growing on her neck stood on end like a dog sensing some great danger. "We should be prepared for attack at any moment. We don't want to be caught off guard."

"Shouldn't we go look for Kiritsugu and Maiya?"

Saber shook her head. "They can take care of themselves. I think." But there was Assassin and Berserker and Caster to worry about. Those three were the unpredictable ones, and that made them dangerous. They had no compunctions about hunting down those involved in the War, even if they weren't Servants.

"They might be in danger though… remember Assassin? He's been targeting us pretty frequently lately. You said that he attacked you and Archer and Rider yesterday. If he's bold enough to attack three Servants at once, isn't it likely that he'd attack Kiritsugu?"

"Of course I would. But today is not the day."

Instantly, Saber reacted by unsheathing her sword, ready to fight. Whipping her head about the room, she searched for anything out of place, any patch of strange fuzziness that would indicate that Assassin was hiding. But in the dark it was nearly impossible to make those types of subtleties out, even with her enhanced eyesight.

"Reveal yourself, Assassin!" Saber shouted. With her free hand, she pulled Irisviel close to her in a protective gesture. She felt the homunculus shaking in her thin night shift, so fragile, so vulnerable; Assassin had killed her once before, after all… "Why do you come?"

The low humming buzz of Assassin's invisibility sounded. The cloud of smoke parted to reveal Assassin, gun pointed at Irisviel's head, and an angry grin on his face. He had been standing right in front of them, hiding in plain sight.

"Don't bother, Arturia. I don't know how this one," Assassin said pointing to Irisviel with his free hand, "survived the first time, but you move and she gets a hole through her head."

"What makes you so sure she won't survive again? Shoot her and I'll kill you. She'll live just as she did the first time." Saber tightened her grip on her sword and cursed inwardly. Although she was the better fighter in any and all measures, Assassin didn't have anyone to protect and no honor to speak of. Irisviel might have been a capable Magus, but human beings had no place in a fight between Servants. Avalon would almost certainly allow Iri to survive, but if she _died_ again, it would be another failure for Saber. Another person she couldn't protect.

Surprisingly enough, Assassin chortled and lowered his gun, reholstering it and motioning for Arturia to do the same with her sword.

"I'm not here to fight tonight, Arturia. I'm not even here to kill that one for the second time."

"Then why?" Arturia put her sword away. Honor dictated it. Even if Assassin was a sleazy, untrustworthy man, Saber was the King of Knights, and she had to hold herself to a certain level of behaviour.

"You know why." Assassin lit a cigarette and offered one each to the two ladies in the room. "Your loss," he said with a shrug, snapping the lid to his cigarette case closed. "You're true Master is away, isn't he?"

"And why do you care about what he does?"

"It isn't really _what_ he does more than _why_ he did it. The whole city is awake right now, haven't you noticed the sunlight?" True enough, even though it was nearly two in the morning, there was _sunlight_ real and yellow and bright, shining through the small slats of the shutters. "The sun is up when it should be down, and it seems as if the whole city has gone crazy. The citizens are congregating near the Fuyuki River."

That sounded ominous enough for even Irisviel to join the conversation, wary of Assassin as she was.

"Why would they do that? And why is the sun up already?"

"The answer to both questions is Caster." Assassin spoke he had explained everything with just those words.

"You're saying Caster has done something to cause _everyone_ in Fuyuki City to act irrationally? That he was able to make the sun obey him? I don't believe it. It's is _far_ more likely that you've done something to both Maiya and my Master, some other magic is warping the light." In an instant her sword was drawn again, and poised to strike Assassin. "Surely you don't believe me so naive that I'd fall victim to your little lies?"

"No lies tonight, Saber. Remember that the Mediator of the War has called a _ceasefire_ between all groups until the threat of Caster is passed. He has made his move tonight, and so should we. Even as we speak he is doing irreparable damage to the world."

"A ceasefire that you've violated before! Caster is a charlatan. He plays with potions instead of casting real magic. He cannot possibly pose a large threat. The only matter is finding where the worm hides. Besides," Saber added as an afterthought, "you have no way of knowing that he's behind this all."

"I'm telling you that he is at the river. I'm telling you that he is responsible for the disappearance of both your Master and his student. " Assassin spoke patiently like one would speak to a child. "Go to the city and see what you find. I come to you because I know it would be nigh impossible for me to defeat Caster on my own. Not when he's like this."

' _Like what?'_ Irisviel wanted to ask, but held her tongue. She would leave the decision to Saber. She had only met Caster once, and even that hadn't been a combat situation. She had no ideas as to what his capabilities were besides what Saber had reported. The ability to burn things and to summon swarms of insects… and a propensity for violence and murder as seen in the papers and news.

"What do you mean by that? What did Caster do?" Arturia spoke with unmasked interest. In their previous encounters, Caster had humiliated her. That shifty, spineless worm of a man had no business in this War… but Saber knew there was danger in that pointed, ugly face of his. Now there was a man without any principle. Caster seemed willing to do anything and everything to further his goals, whatever they may be.

Assassin shrugged. He had only seen the mass of human beings, writhing and fucking like a tangle of worms. Rats with their tails tied together. Snakes huddling for warmth in the winter. There was no telling _how_ Caster had managed to enthrall the entire population of Fuyuki.

"I haven't been able to approach the man. He is surrounded by his, ah, _worshippers_. I don't know what he's done, but he's made every man and woman in this city into his slave. They obey him and mill about him. Waiting for handouts, maybe." Assassin finished derisively. "The fact that Servants seemed to be resistant to his pull lets us assume that Caster is using some magic tomfoolery to enslave the population. Magic that we are naturally resistant to." Assassin's glance shifted towards Irisviel and he rubbed his chin in thought. "I don't quite understand why _she_ hasn't responded to Caster's magic. Everyone else has."

Avalon perhaps? Or maybe Irisviel's existence as a homunculus afforded her natural resistance to magical interference…

"Do you feel anything strange? A tugging at the back of your mind, perhaps? That's what I've been feeling ever since my Master disappeared to join Caster's orgy."

' _Orgy?'_ And now that he mentioned it, Saber _did_ feel something strange. A slight throbbing of her brain against the casing of her skull. Insidiously small and barely recognizable, but still existent, and still worrying. If Caster could affect her, with her immensely strong magical resistance… it must have been incredibly powerful, whatever he did.

"I feel it…" Irisviel said quietly. "It's nothing big, but I do feel it. It's like a little compulsion that's telling you to go to the river. Almost like how some people bite their fingernails by habit. It's automatic."

"An apt observation. Seems that you aren't immune after all, just resistant." Assassin frowned. "Still leaves a plan of motion left to decide…"

"Calm down, Assassin. We did not say that we would assist you. You're our enemy. Several days ago you shot Irisviel with the intention to kill. Yesterday you shot off my hand." Saber leveled her sword, befret of its invisibility it was a long length of cold, steely death. "Leave at once or draw your weapon. It is your choice."

Assassin stared at his wristwatch for a brief moment before sighing. "It's two in the morning, Saber. The sun is out. Did you not notice that?"

A chill ran down Saber's spine. Two o'clock. Sun out. What sort of magic was this?

"Maybe now you understand. Whatever you may think of him, Caster has become immensely powerful. The sun itself obeys his command. What do you think of the rest of the world? How will the scientists of the world explain this phenomena? Do you think the Church will forgive this indiscretion?"

"No… of course not." Saber said slowly. "I'll admit that whoever is responsible for this early sunrise is a legitimate threat. But I see no reason to ally with you. I should be able to defeat Caster myself. I know enough of his power to know how to fight against him."

He threw the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot. "And yet you did not realize as your Master and ally fled their stronghold, minds broken by Caster's magic. You did not realize that the morning had come too early. You _do_ _not_ know." Assassin was speaking severely now, highly frustrated. "Recognize that my Master has also been affected by Caster. Every moment he is under thrall is a minute that he could die. The same goes for your own Master. I have motivation to work with you until Caster's defeat."

"We," Saber said motioning to herself and Irisviel, "cannot trust you. You have shown yourself to be dangerous, unscrupulous, and utterly honorless. You will turn on us. I know you will."

"Of course I will. I want nothing more than to _kill_ that little bitch standing there, for having the temerity to stay alive after having her heart destroyed by _three_ gunshots from my Enforcer. The risk is too great right now. If we don't work together and put our grudges aside; Caster will win. No. He has won already because the whole world is on his side. It's our job to sour his victory."

"Leave. You've admitted already that you intend on killing Irisviel. I will not allow you to stand and threaten as you please."

Assassin sighed and turned to the open window, the night that was bright as any day, where the animals woke, confused and dazed to see the sun so soon.

"It can't be helped then. I'll find my own way of dealing with Caster… And of course, since we are not working together; this means if I spy Ms. Hisau or Mr. Emiya, they may meet unfortunate ends…" Assassin took an exaggerated step towards the window before preparing to jump and—

"Wait! Mr. Assassin!" Irisviel stepped from her spot next to Saber, a pleading expression on her face. "Is he safe?"

"Your husband, you mean?" Assassin stopped smoothly and turned back around. A slight smile was on his face, one of his assured victory. "He's having the time of his life right now. This whole city is. You should see for yourself, just what is happening."

"We'll work with you, Mr. Assassin, if it means that you don't go after Kiritsugu and Maiya tonight. Or until Caster is defeated." Irisviel hadn't spoken much during the conversation, but she was now full of vigor and purpose.

"Iri—" Saber began but was cut off.

"Don't worry about this, Saber. We know what he can do now, right? He caught me by surprise the first time… but I'll be careful this time around. We need to work together if we're going to beat Caster."

She was not enthused. But there was no choice, no time to waste. The three of them exited the building post-haste, running to the car to begin their journey for Caster's head.

* * *

Sola-ui shrieked along with the best of them. Screaming and drooling were the only way of expressing such pleasure. No need for words. Sultry, lustful looks and depraved moans were the only way of communicating. Lancer was in her again, buried to the root for the fourth time that night. Servants had no need for rest so long as they had mana… and Sola-ui would have died of exhaustion before letting the pleasure stop.

" _Fuck!"_ Seed, thick and hot like melted wax filled her again, stayed in her deepest caverns as Diarmuid grunted his release. His was acting as sort of a plug, stretching and filling her perfectly. " _You're perfect, Lancer. Perfect. You're my perfect, perfect—"_ A hand wrapped around her throat, causing her to gag and clench wonderfully tightly around Lancer's still hard cock. The thrusts began anew, angry and violent and once again _perfect_. Oh God, she was in love. She loved him so much, her beautiful Servant. _So_ much better than her husband, whatever his name was—

Tears were dripping down her face. She was so, so happy. The world before the sex was less than nothing, not even worth a memory. The _now_ , the pleasure was all that mattered, all that she could think about. Had it been fate that Diarmuid been summoned for her? Was it an act of God that this beautiful man lay panting over her in glorious exertion as her sharp nails dug lightly over his lean back? Questions didn't even cross her mind. One moment they had been asleep in their rented room, in separate beds at Lancer's request, and then at some strange hour of the night (was this all a dream?) the sun had risen and some heavenly scent filled the world, telling them to run out on the gilded streets and _celebrate_ along with the rest of the world. Celebrate for _God_ had finally come to earth again to absolve them of responsibility and fill their hearts with love.

So close they were to the water that Sola-ui could hear the splash of the river as other couples and groups of sex partners filled its banks and moved with fervent urgency.

She let out a squeal, high pitched and surprised as Lancer hooked his arms underneath her legs and stood, driving her downwards with gravity onto his pillar, reaching deeper and deeper— she could barely think. Words became replaced with _sensations_. Each and every letter a different shade of ecstasy felt in equally amounts of delicious pleasure. ' _Fuck fuck fuck fuck,'_ Sola-ui wrapped her arms around Lancer's muscled shoulders and clenched as hard as she could. She felt her breasts squish together against Lancer's chest and she didn't care about anything at all beside her cunt and how _good_ the world was.

The absurdity of the situation hadn't even occurred to her. One and a half million people all engaged in sex and sodomy and depravity, all of them happy and sharing and kind to one another. All of them _in love_. Something impossible had happened and they were all the better for it. Sola-ui knew that whatever had happened, _whoever_ had happened, was all for the better. How else could she feel so damned good?

Lancer eased her down and Sola-ui knelt, staring straight up to meet her lover's droopy eyes— eyes that she found so, so enticing and wonderful. She opened wide and swallowed as much of the hallowed column as she could, relishing in the taste of her own lascivious fluids and secretions that lubricated the entire length of Lancer's shaft. She hadn't done this before, but it came naturally, it was _natural_ somehow to be on her knees with cock in her mouth and love in her eyes—

The night (day?) was beautiful. Sola-ui, plastered with sweat and love, looked beautiful. And she was happy. Happy as she could ever be, because the love she felt was real, Real as the sun above and the ground below. So real that it scared her.

There were children being raped to death. Choking on cock and smothered under the cunts of men and women older than them. Sometimes children sought each other out through the crowd. Entire classes of children connected waist to waist or waist to face or ass to waist or ass to face.

A woman stuck her finger somewhere it was not meant to be.

The hearts of old men burst in their chests, simply ceasing to work in their brief, excellent moments of heaven.

A shrinemaiden, young and virginal, took four men at once. Her brother matched her.

There was a kindergartener, short enough to be able to take a man in her mouth without even bending over. She seemed to be in high demand.

Animals began to join the humans, their owners, in the orgy. A boy yelped in glee as his dog, a large doberman, lay draped over his back, finally managed to push the knot through the tight ring of his sphincter.

Even the new cadavers participated, still warm and wet, blood flowing away from their once engorged genitals now that there was no heart to pump the warm life through their veins. The living didn't care so long as the hole was wet and soft. The world was a new sensation, and influenced as they were by Caster's perfume, every breath and touch was sheer ecstasy.

Perhaps a hundred meters away, the only person fully clothed in the sea of naked libertines, Caster, sat on the impossible river bed with an expression on accomplishment on his face. A drop of perfume and the world had bowed to him. Even the Servant of the Lancer class hadn't been immune to the power of scent; resistant maybe, but not immune. The closer one got to Caster, the stronger his influence was… the more one fell in love. Next to him was the body of his Master, Uryuu Ryuunosuke. A dead man. A loyal, simple man who had wanted nothing more than to feel the pleasures of life and to live honestly, making his own art. Grenouille decided to dedicate this love fest to his first and only friend. He'd live on forever in Grenouille's mind as a smell. The best kind of immortality, after all, is to be remembered by God…

* * *

Valentine and Iskander had traversed the concrete canopy by leaping and climbing from rooftop to rooftop. Below them in the streets were masses of people, crazed with lust and drunk on pleasure. They were running toward the river, eyes scanning the crowds, looking for Waver Velvet. It was an exercise in futility. Even with Rider's innate link to his Master guiding them, it was near impossible to make out individuals in the crowd. The orgy members were all connected, all sweating and dripping and breathing together like a single organism.

As they grew closer, the pull on their minds grew stronger, exponentially stronger. The pervasive aura in the air unlocked and fed some primal desire to join the people below in their sick pleasure. It was difficult, immensely difficult to resist, and both Servants feared that they would succumb to their latent desires…

"This cannot continue, Valentine." Rider's face was red and flushed as if he was drunk. "The closer we get, the more difficult it is to resist. We will not find that boy like this."

"What can we do? Neither of us have the capabilities for a distance attack, and there will be casualties if we choose to fight here. Caster has this whole city as hostage—" Valentine stopped himself and kicked a small brick off the rooftop, undoubtedly to land on some unsuspecting person below. "Casualties aren't the issue. The fact that Caster has a buffer zone of over a mile is. Which of the Servants would have the range to deal with him?"

Rider grunted and peered over the edge, grimacing at the lewd sight below. The people were ignorant of the danger they were in. Their wills had been coopted in favor of whatever disgusting future Caster had in store.

"Funny how you'd be the one unable to launch a distance assault, _Archer._ " Rider said with a wry laugh. "With my Gordius Wheel I could almost certainly find and kill Caster. It's the fact that even my Divine bulls are affected that prevents me from doing so."

"Then I will gather Berserker and Assassin. You find the other two. Hopefully they are in a cooperative mood…"

* * *

Kariya peered out his window, pondering the crowd that had flooded the street, stripping themselves and engaging in passion. At that moment, his cramped apartment seemed the safest place in the world. Sitting on the couch, bending the furniture under his immense weight, was Berserker. For once the Servant seemed calm, responsive even to Kariya's commands. It had been the dreams, maybe, that were strengthening the bond between the two. Every day Kariya found himself waking up later and later, and going to bed earlier and earlier… the time spent asleep was time spent dreaming.

Silent Hill. Other than the various grotesqueries that roamed the town and the initial terrible moment where Berserker had killed the dream Sakura; it was a calm place. The ruins of a town filled with the unrecallable memories of a thousands of lives. Walking through that vast dreamscape Kariya could _feel_ the day to day banalities that the hard working, salt of the earth townsfolk went through. Miners and shopkeepers. Alcoholics and priests. The children scampering about until that day the ground had opened up with the fire of the world and swallowed their lives…

At times he walked through the lonely schoolhouse, abandoned a century ago and gutted by fire, reclaimed by nature. There were vines and flowers growing everywhere through the cracks in the heat warped, scorched linoleum floor. It was a beautiful place where happy thoughts came easily. The laughter of children always played in his mind as he looked over the empty desks and old, broken pieces of chalk still laying in the metal holding shelf under the blackboard. Sakura would have been of age to attend school by now if she hadn't been stuck in the Matou basement, suffering unspeakable injustices and enduring pain, such pain…

It was the dreams, Kariya decided, that had quelled the Crest Worms lurking under his skin. His health was still failing, the bloody coughing and constant vomiting was proof of that. But he _felt_ none of the pain that Zouken had promised would come. Berserker somehow, must have been dealing with it somehow, was the only explanation that Kariya could come up with. Could Berserker perhaps save Sakura from the worms as well? Perhaps…

"What do you think is going on out there, Berserker? The sun's out at two in the morning." The Servant never responded to Kariya's questions, but it felt nice to be able to voice his thoughts aloud with an audience that never interrupted or spoke back. "Almost certainly it's the work of another Servant. But which one…"

Kariya's information on the other Servants was limited. Berserker could hardly speak, and the tenuous mental link that had been forged between Master and Servant only went so far to aid in communication, so all the scouting that the butcher had done didn't really help Kariya. And there was his participation in the War to consider as well… he had chosen to allow the other Masters to direct the course of the War as prolonged combat had a directly negative impact on his health. Thusly, he had no idea as to what the capabilities of the other Servants were.

"Doesn't seem like anything the knight classes would manage. They're supposed to be fighters, not whatever this is. Even the other classes, Assassin and Rider, they don't match this either. So it must be Caster, right?" It was straight up disturbing what was happening out there. Seemed like the whole city had come out to engage in depraved, brutal sex with one another, with everything and anything that could breath or had a pulse; many times even those basic conditions were forgotten… it was sick to watch. Even the children were—

Children were out there. Children were with dogs and old men and each other, learning what their bodies were made for. Losing their innocence. Bleeding from everywhere and screaming alternatively with new pain or acquired pleasure. Did that mean— it _did_ mean that Sakura was likely out there being defiled in new, but no less depraved, ways— oh God. Kariya didn't know why he hadn't been affected by whatever it was making everyone act so strangely, but he knew it was his duty now to save Sakura, save _Aoi_ who might also be out there under some strange man or woman, panting and crying out in adultery...

"We're going out!"

Berserker grunted, the only sound he could really make besides screaming, and ceased to wipe down his knife. The two stood side by side, Kariya with disgust and anger on his face and Berserker, unreadable as always. There would be violence tonight…

* * *

He didn't even feel bad about it now. The adultery had been so… painful in the past. A reminder that one day he'd betray Irisviel and send her to death, all for the sake of the world. Those nights had been practice, he told himself, practice for when he had to stare in Irisviel's eyes, those bright and innocent eyes that had seen so little of the world… he would have to look her in the face and tell her she would die and that he had been working towards it all along. For the greater good. It was an excuse as much as it was Kiritsugu's justification for doing everything.

The past was dead now. The present was what mattered. And in the present, Kiritsugu could only think about the woman underneath him, a stranger, a brunette with a plain face, hard body. Here there was no guilt, no regret or even thought of his wife. Just the immeasurable happiness that had come when the sun rose in the night sky. Night to day. Guilt to joy. Pain to joy. All thanks to that man, no _angel_ , that had been born today.

There was no use for the Grail. His dreams of world peace were already accomplished, weren't they? The Angel had brought _love_ to the world. Everyone, everyone was in love, falling in love, had been in love with each and every living thing. This was true peace. A world without conflict or pain. Just a simple peace.

Occupying the space of sidewalk directly next to Kiritsugu, Maiya mewled as her fourth partner for the night entered her sopping cunt. Maiya Hisau, usually so serious and proper… she too was happy. Nude and quivering in the night's sun, she squirmed as the young man servicing her flipped her over so that her she was laying face down. The boy was muscular, perhaps in his second year of highschool, and all too eager to satisfy. With hands, trembling with anticipation, the boy straddled Maiya's thighs and spread her firm buttocks to reveal her trembling insides, pink and lovely like a flower…

This was life now, wasn't it? She jerked her hips backwards to meet her partner and let out such a moan when they finally connected. Drool and sweat beaded and fell to spot the ground. Was this was happiness was? She turned her head weakly towards Kiritsugu, who was busy with his own pleasure. The two met eyes briefly and impossibly, their smiles got brighter and their hands snaked together, fingers intertwining in intimacy past intimacy. Whatever feelings may have existed before were unimportant. They were together now and love was not just an emotion, it was the iron law of the night.

 _Love_. Kiritsugu had never loved Maiya. The relationship the two had did not even extend to that of student and teacher. They may have had sex in the past, but his heart had always belonged to Irisviel… He had even whispered Irisviel's name into Maiya's ear one of those nights in the dark, smoky hotel rooms, much to Maiya's despair.

But now, the sun made all clear. The world, Maiya, Kirtsugu, they had all found love in the strangest of things. Something invisible and intangible… all because of a drop of perfume, molecules of scent stolen from the bodies of young girls, they had learned to love one another.

* * *

" _Fuck!"_ Kariya clutched at his head as Berserker stepped on yet another person, a man, this time breaking an arm under his immense bulk. "Don't do that! I keep telling you to be careful!"

But an order without the threat of the Command Spell was merely a suggestion. Berserker reached his foot back and kicked, hitting the man square in the forehead, ending his misery and lubing the asphalt with bone fragments and so many different flavors of brain matter. Pyramid Head seemed to be enjoying himself, going out of his way to injure the oblivious sex fiends tangled on the floor, on the roofs of cars and in heaps of trash, all of them going at it as enthusiastically and vigorously as pornstars.

"Just…" Kariya screamed in frustration, kicking away the reaching hand of a cooing bleach blonde. "Be more careful."

Berserker grunted and cut a man's foot off on complete accident. He had been using his knife as sort of a cane and it had fallen just right.

"Oh man… just go invisible, can't you do that?" But Berserker shook his rusted head no and continued on his merry way, breaking bones with every tottering step.

Kariya cursed under his breath and followed along, alternatively ignoring and apologizing for his Servant's behaviour. Why he wasn't on the ground with the rest of the people of Fuyuki, he didn't know…

"Ah, what do we have here?" A regal, authoritative voice called out over the moaning. "Berserker, I believe? _And_ his Master? What a strange night we meet on."

Strangely, surprisingly, Berserker did not attack. The mad Servant simply stared, or did as close as he could to stare with the helmet on his head.

Kariya jogged forward, almost tripping on a couple that had been making out on the ground. "It _is_ a strange night, what, with all this… lovemaking. Who are you?"

"In this life, the Servant Archer. In my past, I was Funny Valentine, twenty-third—"

"Of the United States, yes, I'm familiar." In his childhood, Kariya had been enthralled by the stories of Steel Ball Run. Out of all the American Presidents, Valentine was probably the only one that Kariya could name, besides Clinton, the current president. "Nice to meet you, I guess. I'm Kariya Matou." They shook hands and Kariya motioned to Berserker, who had been standing by, silently. "This is Berserker. He doesn't say much, but I've taken to calling him Pyramid Head."

"You're awfully forthcoming, considering that I am a potential enemy. What if I were to attack you?"

Kariya laughed, an awful, hacking sound due to his poor health. "Here? I doubt you would choose to attack here," the Magus nudged a young boy, who had been bouncing a top of a man who looked to be his father, with his foot. "Besides, Berserker would kill if you tried anything."

"Would he now…" Valentine stroked his chin and the trio walked through the sea of mating, rutting people together. "I've come searching for you to offer an alliance. Rider and I have determined that Caster is the one responsible for this false, dirty night. Considering that the Mediator has called for an official ceasefire until Caster's defeat, we found it logical that the Servants work together."

"You said Servants, but what about the Masters? Have the others agreed, or are the Servants working independently?"

Valentine kicked over a woman who had tottered to her feet, trying to hug him. Such dirty people… she hadn't even been attractive.

"The other Masters, I assume are part of the crowd." Valentine said gesturing towards the orgy. "Rider's Master was affected, and I assume that mine would have been as well, if he weren't dead." They were making good time through the crowd, Berserker was several meters ahead, clearing a path, pushing and stomping people out of the way.

"Dead? How are you staying materialized? Isn't it that a Servant is dependent on the summoner for mana?" Except of course for Berserker. Kariya hardly felt any drain from Berserker, powerful as the Servant was. "And who was your Master, if I may ask?"

"No one you know probably. I feel that he thought himself much more important than he actually was…" Tokiomi Tohsaka. The value that man had was the fact that his family had collected _three_ whole parts of the Corpse. Those were now in Valentine's possession; and if Spy was to be believed, Tokiomi's daughter had another piece of the Corpse. "His name was Tokiomi Tohsaka."

Kariya stopped walking. Aoi's husband. The father of Sakura and Rin. He was dead? Kariya had never liked the man, in fact, Kariya had _hated_ Tokiomi for marrying Aoi, for selling Sakura, his own daughter to Zouken… Tokiomi had deserved to die.

"Tokiomi Tohsaka, huh?" Kariya let out a huge, shuddering sigh. Try as he might to contain himself, he could not lie: the news excited him. "How'd he go?" At Valentine's withering stare, he quickly elaborated. "The reason I joined the War was because of something he did. Something terrible."

The president murmured to himself. "It was suicide," he stated finally. "He caused his own death."

"That makes it sound like he didn't actually kill himself."

"If you knew the truth of what happened, there'd be no other way to classify his death. Tohsaka killed himself. I am only able to stay materialized because of external factors."

Had Valentine found a new Master? Kariya didn't quite know, but he felt guilty for being so happy over the man's death. Zouken would probably never let Sakura go, but now that Tokiomi was out of the picture, rescuing Sakura might be easier. He might even be able to attempt it tonight, with all this confusion. He hoped that Zouken had somehow restrained Sakura, as terrible it might sound. This false morning was nowhere for a little girl to be… but they were everywhere. All those grade schoolers becoming adults far too early.

"Then, if you know so much about Tokiomi, could you perhaps tell me where to find his daughter?"

"Which one?" Was Valentine also looking to rescue Sakura? Did the president have a heart under his calm and steady exterior?

"Both of them. I have need for only one, but I do not know which one I need. You see, I'm searching for something, and it seems that part of it has fallen into the hands of the one of the Tohsaka children."

Disappointing, but it was to be expected. Kariya had been hoping that Archer also be wishing to free Sakura from her bondage, but it seemed not to be. Perhaps he'd be able to recruit Valentine regardless? He put his most serious expression on, a stern face made terrifying by the tuber like lumps of wormflesh hiding under his skin.

"How about a deal then? I'm also looking for one of the Tohsaka daughters. My problem is that I'm trying to save her. That's why I joined the War…"

"Save her from what?" Valentine asked.

Kariya sighed and began the lengthy explanation behind how exactly Sakura came to live with the Matou family. He began the story with Zouken's lack of a suitable heir and Tokiomi's overwhelming ambition to have his daughters become great Magi. Rin, the elder would grow to be the heir of the Tohsaka family, and Sakura would foster with the Matou clan until she one day grew to be its head… a good plan if it weren't for Zouken's intense, sadistic, disgusting _training._ Then Kariya explained how he had joined the War to win the Grail and to relieve Sakura of the burden of having to stay with the Matou family, away from her mother and sister and devoid of all happiness in her life. Tortured everyday by biting worms that crawled into her body, under her skin, all with the intention of strengthening her magic and making her _feel like shit_.

"Will you help me, Valentine? I can't offer much, but my goal is to free Sakura. With your help, I might not even need the Grail to do so. I've risked so much, you understand. I was never trained to be a Magus. My father had to give me these _Worms_ , to strengthen my magic. I summoned Berserker when he fully expected me to _die_ , be eaten by the Worms because I was too weak. Even now I'm dying. Look at me." Kariya motioned to his face, so gaunt and pale that it seemed like the sun could shine through all the skin and bone and flesh of his head, like putting a flashlight to the hand to watch the blood glow red.

"I have conditions, Kariya." Valentine didn't seem moved at all by the story he had just heard. "You allow me to look through your family's belongings. Part of the artifact that I am gathering was found in Tokiomi's office. I can assume that as one of the major magical families, the Matou family may hold more pieces of what I look for. Secondly I will require that you assist me in finding Rin Tohsaka."

Kariya wasn't so sure if he could fulfill that first condition, but he didn't care. As long as Valentine helped him save Sakura, he'd do anything.

"Deal."

They walked over carpet of bodies, all of them joined in some intimate way, laid bare before the sun and so, so in love. Berserker headed the group, and Kariya and Archer shook hands. But saving Sakura would come later. After Caster was dead…

 **AN: Reminder that the mass orgy is canon in** _ **Perfume.**_ **A single drop made an entire city full of people start having sex. Here, a single drop of Grenouille's perfume was enough to make an orgy that spans the entire** _ **world.**_

 **I tried to make it clear that this wasn't because it was some smutty porn type of thing. The orgy is absolutely terrifying if you think about it. Grenouille's perfume is stated to have the power to make people fall in love, or more accurately, allows Grenouille to control what people love. That's a freaking OP ability. It gives you a huge army of people that will listen to you forever, keeps their moral super high, turns your enemies to your side if they breathe the perfume, etc. People under the effect of the perfume think that Grenouille is literally a divine being that deserves to be worshipped. Maiya and Kiritsugu weren't exempt.**

 **No one is** _ **immune**_ **to the perfume; unless they don't need to breathe. Just that Servants have high resistance to it. If they got closer to the source, they would certainly join the orgy. Sola-ui and Lancer were near the river where Caster is when he first used his** _ **Bottled Love**_ **. That's why they were affected while the other Servants were not.**

 **Irisviel is resistant to the perfume because of her status as a homunculus and because of Avalon being inside her body. If she got closer to Grenouille, she'd succumb.**

 **Same goes for Kariya. He's resistant because of Berserker, which will be explained later in the story.**

EDIT: fixed naming error. Thanks to a reviewer for catching it.

 **Thanks for reading. Please review and leave comments on what you liked in this chapter.**


	10. Something in the air

**AN: I strongly recommend that you watch the movie** _ **Perfume: the story of a murderer**_ **. It's one of my favorites, and is where the character Caster (Grenouille) is from.**

 _I can feel it, coming in the air tonight. Oh lord._

Trace over the scars. The remnants of lessons, beatings, that he had learned in his youth. Dime sized holes healed over on his thighs and stomach, rough and dead to the touch. He had survived anthrax as a child. Grenouille had only died because he _chose_ to. Suicide is the natural conclusion for a God. If one is all powerful, there can be no ending save for the one that is deliberate and chosen. Grenouille had been the closest thing to a God that the world had known in his past life; and now, here he was in a new city, surrounded by new, but no different, people. And perhaps it was the wisdom of his true age speaking, but it felt _good_ to lord over the commonfolk.

True, inexhaustible power was in his hand, contained to a small glass bottle that he alone controlled. A single drop had caused the entire world to kneel. Another one would likely send them all into dreamy convulsions, the smell so strong and wonderful that it might be that the mind fry itself trying to comprehend the hidden beauties in the smell. That's what had happened to Uryuu, after all. A single whiff of undiluted love had killed him… or perhaps it was love that had done it. The serial killer had never _loved_ in his entire life. To feel true, sincere love for the first time would have been devastating. See how it had turned the entire world into drooling fiends. This was the true nature of love.

Grenouille thought back to his days apprenticed to that man, Baldini, the washed up perfumer. What had been the first perfume he had made for him? That weak little thing called _Amor and Psyche_? The perfume had been shit, of course it had been shit, a man other than Grenouille had crafted it; but the name was a surprisingly apt way of describing the art of perfumery. _Amor and Psyche_. Love and the human spirit, soul, the ethereal portion of the human condition that made it possible for man to experience abstracts. This _psyche_ was what allowed humans to be affected so strongly by smell, Grenouille theorized. The ethereal, unseen portions of the mind resonating with the unseen smells in the world, each one warping and shaping the soul to its own shape and form.

It stood to reason then, that Grenouille's own psyche was either so far above the rest of humanity that he could subjugate them with the most basic of machinery. Simple perfume. Sense of smell is the first facet of human sensation to develop, for even as a fetus, a child can discern who is 'mother'.

"You there." Grenouille pointed towards a man caught in the throes of ecstasy. "Kill yourself." It was a pointless exhibition of his power, but it thrilled him all the same. The power over love is the power over life and death… "I don't care how you do it. Just do it quickly. And make sure I can watch."

The man scrambled out of the tangle of legs he was part of and picked up a stone from the ground. It was strange to think that it had been underwater for however many millions of years the Fuyuki River had existed, and even stranger to realize that for all that time it had been underwater and that now, finally it was exposed to the surface, to the light. It had waited all that time in the depths of the river to be used here, the greatest purpose that a stone can dream of—

The man did not hesitate at all. Clutching the rock in his hand, he smashed it over his face, breaking teeth and nose cartilage. Blood fell from the wound but the man was not deterred. He wasn't even fazed by the pain. Quickly, he did it again, and this time the stone, already slick and red, hit his cheekbone, shattering the thin bones under his unrestrained strength. His right orbital socket went next. The thinnest, most fragile bones broke to pieces and the soft eye popped with a small squelching sound. Then again, straight in the forehead. The first strike there only drew blood. The second scored through skin to show white bone and slowly welling blood. Again. Again. Again. Again. Now pink and red and tender flesh, the brain peeked through the hole the man had made in his own head.

Grenouille watched on, somewhat bored, as the man hit himself one final time. The rattling scent of death, the smell of the soul as it wafted up from the body did not excite him any longer. The time for leisure seemed to have passed. Somewhere in the world was the scentless girl, Irisviel von Einzbern. Certainly she'd have to die, and the other Servants need be removed as well…

"You there," this time he pointed to a girl. "Kill yourself…"

* * *

As they entered the city, it became apparent that the world had gone to heaven. People of all kinds, together in love without regard for any laws or restrictions. Their desires, their fantasies made true through simple expression and contact. Sex. Had any of these libertines known each other in life? They certainly knew each other now. They knew each other as man and woman know each other. Even the children…

They had gone in the car for the first leg of their journey (Assassin driving), but had quickly given it up when they realized that the streets were filled.

There was such a look of fury on Spy's face. His gun was out and hot to the touch. He had killed a dozen men in the past hour either by the steel of his knife or by the bite of his gun… the victims had been deserving of it in Saber's eyes. Profligates breeding with animals or laying with children, none in the streets flinched as Assassin's revolver roared again, carving a hole through a man's skull. The small boy next to him, cried out in disappointment at the cessation of the man's thrusting. Pushing the man off, the boy crawled out from under the corpse, unnoticing or uncaring of the gore that spattered his nude body, and looked for a new partner. Vainly, Spy called after the boy and made to grab him by the arm, but Saber held him back.

"There's no point in trying to stop him. These people are not in the right mind. No matter how… distasteful their actions may be, we cannot indiscriminately kill those who do wrong. Not tonight." She was flushed and sweaty under her armor. Not exactly because of the unnatural sunlight, but also because she was excited. The musk of an entire city, pheromones and the smell of sex was addicting it its own pungent way. Every step towards the river only made the desire to strip and join the crowds grew, and Saber knew that both Assassin and Irisviel felt the same way. There was no escaping the desire, it was like something in the air, filling their lungs and dissipating into their blood just as easily as oxygen.

"So you'd let that sort of deviancy continue? Pederasty may have been common when you ruled, Saber, but my more, ah, _modern_ sensibilities tell me that sodomy with a child is wrong." Spy spoke brusquely and aimed his firearm in the distance, taking the head of a woman this time who had been mounted by a spectacularly large dog. As the woman's body dropped to the ground, limp and dead, the dog never once ceased in its thrusting. " _Mon dieu…_ I am going to _kill_ Caster when I see him."

"That's the plan," Saber said, huffing. Each member of the trio had shed a layer of clothing by now. The sun had been high for an unnaturally long period of time, no doubt Caster's work, and the mercury was reaching at least 40 degrees. "What remains to be seen is _how_ we will kill Caster. I would use Excalibur to do so from a safe distance, but I fear there will be too many casualties." She wouldn't mention how she _still_ did not have full usage of her arm. The wound from Lancer's spear had not disappeared, and Excalibur's full capacity was out of her reach.

"Casualties or not, the fact remains that there will come a point where we can no longer approach Caster. Surely you two notice it, every step you take your body gets heavier and," he sighed and loosened his tie, "it gets hotter. The blood flows lower and quicker…" Assassin took a moment to look at both Saber and Irisviel. "We may be enemies, but I'd hate to see either of you join the others…"

It was embarrassing to be sure; but Irisviel had at least birthed a child. She knew all about the what happened between men and women during the night, or day in this case. Saber, though, had never had the luxury to be able to love. Her whole life had been about duty. Her husband was her throne, her responsibility to the people of her kingdom. She had even taken a wife, pretending all the while to be a man… whatever love she could have known in life _had_ to be unreciprocated. She had died a virgin.

"That will not be happening," Saber said quickly. "It will not get to that point. The other Servants, once we find them, will surely have a method of dealing with Caster. If not, I am certain I can endure whatever magic that Caster is using to bend the wills of these people. I have no succumbed so far, I will go alone if need be, and cut him down." It was at least somewhat true. Saber had so far fared the best out of the trio. Her class traits afforded her higher magical resistance than any of the other Servants, so she would likely be able to endure the corrupting influence for longer than the rest.

"If that's a risk you're willing to take… it would be noble, but foolhardy. Caster cannot be beaten through combat." Assassin shrugged and walked on. Their progress had been growing steadily slower and slower as the sheer volume of human beings increased exponentially. More and more depraved the crowds became. Children, small children involved in the most terrible of acts. True sexual sadism and perversity became known. The darkest nature of human beings is revealed through their love…

Coprophagia is defined as the eating of feces. Disturbing, too disturbing to see people derive _pleasure_ from such a disgusting action. An elderly woman squatting over her daughter's face, cackling and moaning as a murky, watery spray of dung expelled from her anus, splattering over her wrinkled, mottled thighs as she covered the younger girl's face. Saber turned away and made sure to at least try and Iri's view, but it seemed she had failed…

Irisviel made a gagging sound, the smell of evaporated sweat and the wet mushroom cellar smell of semen mixed with that of shit and it proved to be too much for the homunculus. She vomited, a thin soup of yellow bile and stomach acid, acrid as anything, onto the floor. It was interspersed with chunks and speckles of half digested food. Stragglers came from the crowd, crawling like animals they licked the revolting gruel like dogs. Quickly, Irisviel stumbled over the bodies, tripping, falling, picking herself up, eyes almost blinded by the hot tears that erupt whenever the body purges itself.

"That's just sick…" an understatement. Just thinking of what had happened made Assassin want to gag, and that wasn't counting everything he was trying to ignore. People were disgusting. Their bodies imperfect and hairy, some too fat, morbidly fat, and others thin and brittle as matchsticks. It was a wonder they didn't snap under the weight of their partners…

But they wanted to join. No matter how fervently they might have denied it, there was _always_ a part of the brain that was eager to join, to feel pleasure beyond pleasure and to surrender oneself to _love_.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have left behind the vehicle behind. There _must_ be nothing wrong with running these _animals_ over." Spy raved darkly. He was running low on ammunition and realized that he had perhaps two dozen shots left. He couldn't spare any more bullets on these hedonists. Already it was growing difficult to walk. How badly he wanted to sit, perhaps lay down and rest for a while! Maybe even find a pretty girl to sate his thirst… No! He couldn't succumb. Caster needed to die. This world the enemy had made was an _offense._ To give in and lose free will, the most valuable possession according to Assassin, was unforgivable. Wasn't that why he had heeded the call of the Grail? To free himself of the most insidious form of bondage imaginable? To be one individual person, but split into two separate forms… his BLU team clone, his other half. Better half? Worse half? Spy didn't know, but once the BLU Spy was out of the picture, he'd be able to call himself an individual again.

"We seek to _minimize_ casualties, Assassin. The people here are innocent. They have done no wrong except to have lived in this city. It is Caster who has corrupted them into acting the way they do."

"You're wrong, Saber." It was an apt judgement that the King of Knights had made, but shortsighted in an important way. "These people are acting out the forbidden, secret desires of the heart. The man who lies with a child or with an animal _wants_ to do it. They have no place gracing the same earth as you or I."

"They would not have acted on their deviancies had Caster not forced them to."

"It wasn't _coercion_ , they did so because the opportunity was presented and there was no—"

"Please stop arguing," Irisviel panted out. The conversation was growing heated, and in the humid, stagnant, sex filled air, it was worse than useless. The homunculus looked and sounded haggard, as if she had run a marathon. Even with the resistance that her non-humanity and possession of Avalon afforded her, Caster's magic was taking it's toll. She had already lost her heavy coat, and was left in a sheer blouse, drenched in sweat. "It's hard enough as it is without the two of you bickering. We have the same goal, so shouldn't we focus on that?"

The two Servants, seemingly embarrassed and sufficiently chastised, fell silent.

"Now it's difficult for me to do so with the latent magic in the air, but I _think_ I sense other Servants. There seems to be a concentration of mana moving closer to us. Perhaps a block or two away."

"I see him Iri. It's Rider." True to Saber's word, the tall Servant was walking alone towards the unlikely trio, holding the edge of his cape up so as to not brush against any of the degenerates squirming on the floor.

"Ho! Friends! How goes the early day?" Rider's usually jovial tone was forced. An undercurrent of disgust tinged his words. "A beautiful day, we _must_ go show Caster our thanks." His eyes hardened as he caught the sight of Assassin, walking about free and unmolested. No one was smiling. The air filled with tension and the mist of sex that rose from the clapping, shuddering bodies, some of them caught and frozen in moments of ecstasy. "And _Assassin._ You must be overjoyed that Valentine was so merciful."

"Mercy had nothing to do with it. Valentine simply knew the value of information. It was an exchange." Spy lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Rider's direction. "If you understood strategy instead of trying to muscle your way through everything, maybe you'd have at the chance at the Grail."

Rider guffawed. "I'm Iskander the Great! I conquered the world only because of _strategy_. Information is power, as they say."

"Then perhaps you know where Archer is," Irisviel cut in. If those two started arguing, they'd never stop. "We've planned to join our forces together. All the Servants to take out Caster. Are you in?" No one paid enough attention to notice that Irisviel had begun to walk strangely, her stockinged thighs rubbing together to relieve pressure.

"That's why I'm here, girl," Iskander sounded annoyed, "Caster has made this world, the world that _I_ am to conquer, into some sort of pleasure house. There is a place and time for such things."

Like a group of crusaders, the now quartet walked on toward the Fuyuki River, mind steeled against temptation and heads held high, eyes to the sky, ignoring the rest of the world… they tried to, at least. Sex was on their minds.

* * *

"Change of plans, Kariya." In the abnormal heat of the bright, loud night; Valentine stood shirtless, looking over his reflection in a dirty shop window. His body was perfect, seemingly molded out of bronze by a master sculptor, it was like looking at a museum piece… only the star-spangled stacs on his back and the letters on his chest marred the physical perfection.

Behind the glass storefront, the screens of televisions, grey, blockish models, displayed only static. It was difficult to make out with the strong glare from the sun, but if one squinted enough… a pattern was visible in the softly falling digital snow.

"Look here, Kariya. A _clue_. We should act on it immediately." Valentine's Noble Phantasm, his _Dirty Deeds_ , materialized behind him and punched the thick, tempered glass, shattering it completely. All around them came the orgasmic moans of the debauched masses, so loud that Kariya could hardly hear his ally.

"What clue?" Kariya shouted, distracted by the cries of a particularly attractive woman and Berserker's casual destruction of the surroundings. "If this is about your _Corpse_ again, I swear, it's getting old." It seemed at times that all Valentine ever talked about was the Corpse, always stressing its importance or how he was destined to gather the scattered parts.

With the glass broken and television free from the glare of the sun, the _clue_ was readily visible. The static of the television was _warped_. A strange set of symbols, letters maybe? It had been quite some time since Kariya had been in school, and the english characters were unfamiliar to him. _**T**_ _A I N;_ Kariya slowly pieced together the message with his limited knowledge of english. "So what you're looking for is on a mountain?" The fuzzy letters shifted constantly, not their overall shapes, but the borders of the symbols buzzed in tune with the television static.

"That seems to be the case." Valentine took a moment to scratch his chin. "That begs the question then: what is our next course of action? We could continue on our way to defeat Caster, save the little girl you mentioned, or we could chase the Corpse. There are three pieces that remain. The rest are with me." The original plan had been to find the other Servants and defeat Caster, but now that other options were available… "Perhaps we should save the child first. You mention that she is being held by your father. It is most likely that the both of them have succumbed to Caster's evil; and you know what happens to children in this night." Valentine didn't need to explain any further. Just gesturing to the copulating, degenerates on the street corners, all of them sweating and panting with ill restrained lust— it was too much to think that Sakura could be in such a terrible situation.

"The girl first. Please, let's go get her. I don't want her to be a part of this." But it was too late, wasn't it? The genie would not go back in the bottle. Sakura was likely out on the streets already, mingling with strangers in ways that she shouldn't. The only thing to do now was to end it prematurely…

"Perhaps it would be better to go after the Corpse. While the other Servants are fighting Caster, I would not be interrupted. Saber has vowed to take the Corpse for herself, after all… what a selfish girl. I could go now to the mountain and take it for myself… yes. Then there would be Rin Tohsaka to visit. Then when Caster is weakened by the rest, I could come in and—"

"Are you hearing yourself, Valentine? This is the innocence of a little girl we're talking about! Screw the Corpse! It's wrong to leave her outside in _this,"_ Kariya swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the rest of the city, "we should save her as soon as possible! I'll help you do whatever you need done, later. I'll even help you fight the other Servants; Berserker will help you. I know he will."

Archer pointed toward Kariya's hand, the one with the remnants of the Command Spells, an inert sigil in the shape of an endless pyramid, overlapped thrice over. "You can promise all you want, Kariya; but the fact remains that you have no more Command Spells. You cannot control Berserker. Any order without the threat of force behind is only a suggestion. The longer I think of it, Kariya… you have no real bargaining chip." His eyes were sparking flints with purpose and drive. "What worth do you have? You're a second rate Magus who cannot even stop your rampaging Servant…"

Panicking over the supposed danger that Sakura was in, Kariya spoke rapidly, saying the first things to come to his mind. "The Mediator's promise, remember? If Berserker kills Caster, I'll win an additional Command Spell! Would you _deal_ with me then?"

"I would." It was what Valentine had wanted to hear all along. Kariya's desperation made him predictable, easy to manipulate. Kariya would kill himself if it meant keeping that little girl safe. The man would even give up his own Servant, the very thing keeping him alive in this War for the sake of that girl, his love was fierce, but foolish… exactly the kind of ally he needed. "Have him kill Caster while the two of us save the girl. If Berserker is successful, you will have a Command Spell for _me_ to use."

"Then," Kariya said with an exhalation of relief, "I'll lead you to the Matou estate." He turned to his Servant, Pyramid Head, the Berserker, the tall, scarred monster that laid waste to the crowds of sex fiends, pulping them underfoot and cutting them to small, easily digestible cuts of meat with his great cleaver. "Berserker…" his apprehension was high, with just a sentence more he'd be letting loose a monster; one that would never stop until his appetite for gore and human pain was fulfilled. He didn't even have a Command Spell to stop Pyramid Head if he got too out of control. "Kill Caster. Kill everything between you and he. When the real sun comes up or when the fake sun goes down, I want him dead by then. Alright?"

Berserker would likely kill _everything_. But that was the price to pay for Sakura's life and what was left of her innocence. Pyramid Head would rampage and once, if, Caster fell to his blade; the deal would be done. Sakura would be safe and Valentine would have his due.

Was he smiling? Even under the heavy metal apparatus that served as Berserker's only real armor, Kariya could sense that the Servant was smiling. Ecstatic. Happy. Overjoyed. With a guttural yelp of what could only be excitement, Berserker turned to the crowds, to the buildings and cars and homes that made up the city and began to cut everything down. Dozens at a time they began to fall. The people. The razor wind from each and every one of Berserker's knife slashes scoured deep, thin grooves into the building faces, bisecting cars and maiming those humans unfortunate enough to be caught in Berserker's rampage.

But the citizens didn't care. They simply looked up from their sick tangles, dazed and smiling as Berserker dispensed hate. They died on their backs, stinking of sweat and semen. Sex. They died fucking. Their bodies, still intertwined in love twitched in orgasm, then in by their deathrattles.

Valentine and Kariya turned away and left for their journey.

Berserker never stopped. Each step and swing of his knife took him closer to the riverfront…

* * *

He could smell them moving now. Each and every one of them. Five Servants and a Master. Was the scentless one immune to his charm, or had she already joined the orgy? Grenouille didn't know. What he could not smell, he could not be sure of. He'd trust his nose before his eyes. The rest of them were part of his congregation. Perhaps a hundred meters away was Lancer and his Master, the red-haired one, both of them worshipping fervently. The had been at it for a while now, and showed no signs of tiring.

To know that he had single handedly brought peace to the world, to know that people who hadn't ever heard of his name were worshipping him all across the globe; it was a marvelous feeling. One that Grenouille decided must last forever. It was his right as God of the world to be worshipped. Lancer, the great warrior for Ireland, a magician with his spear; he had been subjugated, subjugated easily. The other Servants, however, did not seem so willing to cooperate.

Why? Grenouille did not understand. Here he had offered the world _paradise_. A place for love to flow freely as rain in April. Everyone was loved here. They all had their places, their niches, their lovers. No one was ugly. No was disliked. Everything and everyone was available to each other. Here there would be no war. No pain. No suffering. Just… love. He was generous. The world had given him nothing but scorn and hate, Grenouille returned it all with love. All the beatings and words of hate he had suffered while young, those seven long years spent in the wilderness, surrounded only by the sparse mountain grass and the scrawny bats and mice that he had eaten twice a day… he had built his empire there.

World peace. The elusive goal lurking in the back of every man's mind. Countless billions had worked towards it. Countless billions had either failed or brought upon the world tragedy instead of the heaven they sought. The road to Hell is paved… a popular saying that held no sway here. Grenouille had done what God had been unable to do. All that omnipotent power and the Old Man in the Sky had done nothing. Grenouille had taken the world with just a single drop of perfume.

But here they were now. Agents of hate and destruction that worked against him. The Servants were marching against him. Berserker to his east. Saber and Rider to the north. Archer moving _away_ from him. At least _someone_ realized the perfection that Grenouille was making on this earth. But the others… they'd have to die. Or at the very least be made to understand his perfect world over heaven.

Grenouille stood, unstoppering his flacon of _Bottled Love_. The whole world turned to watch him. Even thousands of miles away, across stormy oceans and bone dry desert gulches, where the distance made it impossible to even begin to see what Grenouille was doing, people turned. In his hand was something more revered than Mecca or St. Peter's Basilica. True love was in his hand. Contained in a small glass bottle. Slowly he tilted the glass and a small drop of pure love fell to the ground. The world stood still. The fucking stopped.

"Teach them how to _love_ ," he said.

And the crowd went wild.

* * *

What the world would do when it woke from its slumber, Saber did not know. Around the small group, the masses rose as a collective, each man and woman sticky with sick, nacreous fluids, the fruits and seeds of the past several hours. Their love for each other, be it fake or genuine, encrusted and stinking, cooking on clammy skin, baked by sun. No longer were they fucking, but the spell was not broken. The lust was not sated. The atmosphere grew thicker, almost like a heavy fog rolling in from the sea. Caster's spell was growing in power, intensity, scope.

They were all watching. The sex crazed men and women of the city, of the world; the whole world had turned to stare now. Saber and her group, the sole wanderers of the misty, hazy wasteland where the only thing to exist was the desire for _more_ sex… they were _different_. And the world would not tolerate differences. Be a part of paradise or die. An easy choice for most, but one that Saber would not make.

"They're different." Saber said tensely. The group had stopped, spooked by the sudden change in atmosphere. It was one thing to be a traveler through the land of lust, but to have the greedy eyes of the men and women, children and animals focused on her, looking over her every movement and unconscious breath… it was disturbing. Never before had she been _wanted_ in this way. It was an uncomfortable, awkward feeling. These innocent people around her, minds broken by Caster's magic… they loved her, not as a King or friend, but as a woman. They _wanted_ her. "Rider, Assassin. Be prepared to fight," she managed to pant out. "We haven't met with Archer yet; but we should launch our assault on Caster as soon as possible. The atmosphere is getting worse."

The crowds took their first steps forward, tottering and stumbling on themselves. Fat, old men with jiggling bellies and genitals and little girls, their breasts barely more than mosquito bites on their chests; they were all coming with lust in their eyes. They'd eat them. This was Caster's command. Teach the outsiders how to love or how to die. Either one was acceptable.

Assassin wasted no time. With a grimace sitting on his mouth, he raised his gun, unloading into the crowd. Three, four, five people died. There was no discrimination. The children he had sought to protect earlier died the same as the adults, with holes through their chests. So much hostility in the air. The whole world wanted them dead, damned to Hell for the sin of being _different_ , noncompliant to the orders of God.

" _We want to teach you love!"_ The entire world shouted all at once, shaking the very building and roads they stood on in a collective resonance. " _We're so happy together! Why don't you join us? Are you so cruel as to deny yourself paradise?"_ And they strode forward, tripping on each other, tripping on the corpses made by the gleaming sword strikes from Saber and Rider, the angry piercing wire constructs from Irisviel… but there were a hundred thousand million soldiers marching on four. Even those who had been crippled beyond belief, disemboweled and limbs missing, cut apart by the expert swordsman ship from Rider and Saber; they crawled, dragged themselves along the ground to reach and clutch at the hem of Saber's battle dress or at the cuff of Assassin's well tailored pants.

Five died at once, Rider's short sword cleaving them in two, straight across the stomach. But what good was it? A hundred filled the empty spaces left behind by the dead men. Children, small and monkey like began to climb the buildings, some falling to their deaths as their small, weak fingers gave way to gravity, but many of them chose to jump, leap towards the Servants who, already occupied with the attackers on the ground, could not hope to defend against an aerial assault.

Two landed on Rider's shoulders, their ribs splintering as the young bones tried in vain to absorb the shock of a twelve story drop. But the pain was ignored and the children began to bite and scratch at Rider's face… With a tremendous shrug of his shoulders, Rider swatted the children away. There was no mercy. The attackers may have been normal human beings, incapable of magic or miracles, but they were motivated by the fervor of righteousness. Despair, an unfamiliar emotion filled his heart. Too many. There were too many. Iskander had won battles against insurmountable odds before, but this was _impossible_. Three Servants and a Magus against all six billion people on the earth. Against every animal that had joined the fray. Dogs barked and snapped at him only to meet a cruel end at the point of his sword. He killed dozens, but there were thousands, hundreds of thousands just in this city alone, all of them bent on teaching him the new world order…

Did they have what it took to kill an entire city? Saber thought not. Her arm was crippled thanks to Lancer's cursed spear. Excalibur was out of her reach… and would she use it anyways? If given the opportunity to raze the city to the ground under Excalibur's wrath, could she call herself a King? She would be responsible for the death of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. All of them innocent, seduced by magic to fall into sin. It _wasn't_ their fault, no matter what Assassin claimed. It was difficult to swing her sword, burdened by guilt as she was. Each swing of her sword, burst of mana that turned human beings into paste, it was _hard._ Not because of any physical exertion or pain. There was a certainly hot pang of guilt associated with killing those she knew had no choice but to act the way they did. _Caster_ was in the wrong, not the people… and yet she killed. Every movement she made was deadly, precise, and merciful. Justice? Not justice.

"Rider! Assassin!" Arturia ran to Irisviel's side, cutting through a nude crone, slicked with oil who had been ready to grasp Irisviel by the shoulders and pull her into the depraved crowd. "We must leave!" There were too many of them. The masses were relentless and uncaring of any casualty or pain. In fact, each and every person, even those dead or dying had smiles on their faces, happy to work towards whatever sick goal their God had commanded them to work towards. "We'll die here if we don't!" And that was a fact. No matter how strong or powerful the Servants might have been compared to a normal human; quantity was it's own quality. Even the sun might be doused by a trillion droplets of water…

"They'll just follow us! We can't afford to show weakness here. They'll chase us and they'll tear us apart when our backs are turned! We take our stand here!" Rider shouted even as he killed a man, throwing him backwards into the crowd with such force that his body broke. " _Ionioi Hetairoi!"_ Rider shouted and the world became a desert. His army materialized like the great ocean tide to sweep away the crowd. Soldiers, trained killers, all of them veterans of Iskander's countless battles; each one of them a Heroic Spirit in their own right, they found it easy to cut through the lustful masses.

Rider atop his mount, Bucephalus, quickly made his way to Assassin, Saber, and Irisviel. The former looked impressed now that he was not on the receiving end of Rider's Noble Phantasm.

"I can only maintain this for so long. Much mana was used the previous day when Assassin and I fought. My chariot is so far unavailable because my Divine Bulls are badly affected by Caster's spell… if we must escape, we must do it quickly." He was reluctant to retreat, but Rider knew it was wise to do so. Since Waver wasn't nearby, he had little mana to work with. Even calling on _Ionioi Hetairoi_ for these brief moments was rapidly depleting his reserves. He could only hope that Waver was near and that there would be a way to break him from the curse of Caster.

"What about Archer," Saber asked. "He's out there in the city— what am I saying," she mumbled, "he can take care of himself. Let's go!"

The frenzied melee between Iskander's army and the relentless hordes of reached its fever pitched climax, hundreds of humans dying at once, torn apart by spear lines and cavalry charges, pierced by a sky full of arrows so thick that the hot desert sun of the Reality Marble was for a brief moment obscured. Then all at once the world went still, the sand gritty in the air, cloying and sharp as it rose and fell with the winds… Rider released his tenuous hold over his army and they went out of existence. The action was physically painful, his mana so low that he could now barely keep himself materialized.

For perhaps half a minute the world was silent save for the whispers of the wind and the clank of boots on concrete. Saber and her group made their way up to the top of an apartment complex in hopes of escaping the mob. But it was to no avail. No matter where they went they could not hide their individual scents; and Caster, who directed the mob with whatever psychic trickery he was using to control them, knew exactly where they were going. The bodies, their souls seduced by promised happiness, were but empty shells only intent of fulfilling Caster's will. Like zombies.

"Irisviel, how many people live in Fuyuki City. Do you know?" Saber asked breathlessly. The endless procession of footsteps stomping on the concrete stairway of the multistory apartment complex was deafening.

"A little over a million I think…"

A million human bodies, little more than ammunition for Caster now. A million bullets from a million guns, all of them pointed right to their heads. They'd die here in this city. No magic or power save that of mass genocide could save them now.

"They'll be here shortly, Saber." Assassin said from the doorway leading back into the building. The sun was hot on the flat rooftop and the plants had already began to shrivel. It was near fifty degrees celsius now. "We could retreat further or we could stay to fight. It's your choice." He had maybe two dozen bullets left for his firearm.

There was pressure like she had felt a thousand times before. Saber had ordered entire armies to their deaths before, just to stave away the barbarian hordes or to provide an advantage in a future battle. She had done this without batting a lash. Unflinching, unfeeling King Arthur. Her knights, friends forged through battle had whispered that she had lost her humanity… and hadn't she? Always serious, never a moment of relaxation. That was her duty as King. To be above the common man, to be above even the knight and nobles. It was her duty to sacrifice and it was the duty of others to die on her orders… so why was it so hard now? Assassin, weakest of the Servants, and Rider, crippled by his lack of mana, both seemed to look towards her for guidance.

' _We stand and fight,'_ she wanted to say. But she couldn't. What ever decisiveness she had during her reign had been shattered by her defeat at Camlann, at the hands of her own _son_ , Mordred. ' _We stand and fight, and we will take Caster's head.'_ She couldn't say it. She couldn't think it. It all seemed so hopeless.

They were waiting for a miracle. Backs pressed against empty air and nowhere else to go, standing at the edge of a roof waiting to die. Three Servants and a homunculus against the entire world. Against all the powers of love and goodness.

* * *

Archer's ghost, his _Stand_ , broke down the doors of the Matou estate easily. The unlikely pair walked inside. Valentine with an expression of complete serenity on his face and Kariya sweating bullets. If they screwed up in saving Sakura, there was no telling what Zouken would do. That old man wasn't human anymore. Kariya had seen first hand how magic and the Worms had twisted his father's body into something ghastly. A monster, just like the ones to haunt the dreams of children…

"I'm trusting you, Valentine." Kariya knew he was the vulnerable party here. The Crest Worms gave him some magical power, including the ability to fly; but whatever battle would ensue between the Servant and his father would be far beyond his meager ability. His own well being and Sakura's salvation lay in the hands of this man, this stranger, whom Kariya did not fully trust. "If you can keep my father distracted for just a short amount of time, I should be able to save Sakura. I'm trusting you."

"Why haven't you done this sooner? You summoned your own Servant; I'm sure Berserker could manage to kill this Zouken Matou, no matter how monstrous he may be." Valentine stood on a pile of rubble, peering through the cloud of dust that had been knocked up by the wall and door that D4C had destroyed. It was the best type of environment for Valentine to fight in, full of rubble and other such objects for D4C to use effectively. Whoever Zouken Matou was, no matter what magic he used, the man had no forewarning or experience with Valentine's _Dirty Deeds_. Victory was assured.

"The way his body is made makes him immune to most physical attacks. Now, I don't know if you have a way of killing a man with an incredibly durable body, but Berserker can't end him for good with simple weapons. Magic or some other power is needed."

Slow footsteps came from the house, behind its rotund walls covered in creeping ivy and once brilliant hedges all dry in the harsh night's sun. There was a strange rhythm to the steps, triple time like waltz instead of the usual _step-step_ of a human being. An old man, dressed in the traditional clothes of the Japanese fashion, skin pulled taut, then let to sag over his bony skull. A picture of horror. An old man, so old that Valentine thought him to be already dead. Valentine shivered. Was that how he had looked after being aged to the point of senescence by Gyro Zeppeli's Steel Ball?

"And so the prodigal son returns. You didn't have to knock so loud, you know. We _did_ have a doorbell installed just a couple weeks ago." Zouken's voice was utterly unconcerned and bored.

"Where's Sakura, old man? Bring her out to us and we won't have any trouble."

The old man sighed and shook his head in mock disappointment. "Where are your manners, Kariya? Didn't I _raise_ you better?" He asked sarcastically. "Introduce your companion first. Then we'll talk."

"Old man, if you don't—"

Valentine put a hand up in front of Kariya's face to mean silence. "Mr. Zouken Matou, I presume? My name is Funny Valentine. The twenty third President—"

"Of the United States. Yes. I know. I was there." Zouken punctuated each short sentence with a curt nod of his head. "I watched the Steel Ball Run, you know. And when it was announced that _you_ were the one who made it all possible for Stephen Steel to host the race… I can't help but say that I was impressed. Well done."

"I suppose a thanks is in order then." Valentine strode forward, Stand hovering behind him the whole time, a hugely intimidating shadow that shone in the sunlight. "I'm glad that so many enjoyed the race; but that was nearly two hundred years ago. How is that you were present?"

Zouken shrugged. "Good genetics I suppose. Blessed with a long life. Magic goes a long way to preserve my health."

Valentine nodded in understanding. His arms were crossed over his muscular body, the letters on his chest shifted and the scars on his back, the scars that had been alight with phantom pain for so much of his life; they twitched. Everyone in the courtyard knew what was coming next. There would be a battle. One would live and one would die. But first…

"I have a question for you, Matou."

"Ask away. It's a good sign if a dead man is wanting some education."

Valentine brushed a lock of errant hair behind his ears, seemingly out of irritation. Completing the movement he opened his hand for all to see. A human ear, leathery dry, sat in his hand. Everyone, even Kariya who had little experience with magic, could sense the _**gravity**_ of what was in Archer's hand. The Ear…

"Have you heard of this before, Magus? The legend of the _Corpse?_ " It would probably be best to approach either Kirei or Risei Kotomine about the Corpse, seeing as they were clergymen; but Valentine was no longer allied to them and the opportunity had passed. "It is a matter of great importance."

"How many do you have?" Zouken asked. "Just out of curiosity, how many?"

"Four of nine. The Ears, the Right Arm, Legs, and the Heart."

"And you'll be wanting the rest. Correct?" The expression on the old man, worm corrupted, festering corpse of a man, was downright sinister. Evil. "I know of the Corpse."

"Kariya. Go find the girl." Valentine was ready to kill. In his hand was his flag, balled up and hidden. Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap floated behind him, every muscle ready to explode into action.

"The Corpse you see, was brought to Japan by a man, an American, by the name of Johnny Joestar."

Valentine flinched at that. Johnny Joestar… the man who had killed him, who had stopped him from lifting America over the stars and moon… Valentine felt such hate.

"I don't know exactly why the Corpse was brought to this land, but Johnny Joestar died in short order and the Corpse was recollected by government agents. While transporting the Corpse back to America, a typhoon struck, sinking the boat the Corpse was on. I can only assume that it floated back to Japan. And I'd like to know how you came across it, Mr. President."

It wasn't a typhoon to have sank that boat. It was the will of God himself. The Corpse… it had _known_ that Valentine would be summoned two centuries later and it had waited, waited patiently like a little dog, never bestowing the power of _Stand_ upon anyone else until Valentine came once more to claim what was rightfully his.

"Tokiomi Tohsaka was the owner of three Parts of the Corpse. He was ignorant to their true nature and thought them to be powerful summoning catalysts for the Holy Grail War. I took them from him."

"So I take it that he's dead?" Zouken asked with an glee written in the tired wrinkles of his face.

"Yes. He's dead. He's dead and _I_ have the Pieces now. Five more and I'll have assembled it all over again."

Zouken threw his head back, laughing with unrestrained glee. When he calmed himself and looked at Valentine once more, a third eye stared blankly at the Servant, embedded in the old man's cheek. Another one looked towards the sun, blinking slowly. It was in Zouken's forehead, the same dead color as the other one. The Eyes…

"I'm curious, Mr. Valentine. I've had these Eyes for over a century and I've never met anyone else who held the Corpse. To think the Tohsaka family held so many pieces and were ignorant of the whole thing… it's insulting isn't it? The _power_ that one receives just by owning a Corpse Part is incredible, but it is not for all people, is it? I tried with my son, Byakuya, and my grandson, but neither of them showed any ability to bond with the Eyes… Why is that?"

Valentine and Zouken circled each other now, both of them searching for weakness.

"The Corpse only blesses those who have a strong will, a personal drive to want to obtain and hold the Corpse. The reasoning behind it does not matter. _Selfishness, goodness, badness_ ; none of this matters to the Corpse! It will only recognize the true _holder_! It gravitates towards whomever is _meant_ to have it! And it is _I,_ _Funny Valentine, who will take the first napkin!"_

He leapt forward, the arms of _Dirty Deeds,_ more dangerous than anything, outstretched and ready to crush Zouken between the fists. It was almost unfair, Valentine thought. The power over dimensions was a terrifying one, one that was nearly impossible to counter unless one knew of the mechanics behind _Dirty Deeds_. Zouken would die, no matter how durable he was, he would die in a spatter of blood and Menger sponges. There was no defense against a dimensional paradox except for his own Stand.

The old man was limber, even if he didn't seem like it. The spine bent at an unholy angle, straight backwards so that the silver white fists of Dirty Deeds passed over harmlessly. Zouken cackled and his body shifted, expelling worms from his body in gouts of blood. They were long greenish beasts that glistened in the sunlight and snapped their terribly sharp jaws and there _were so many_. Hundreds of them tore through the elder's parchment like skin, swimming through flesh like sharks cutting through waves, leaving no trail as the body healed instantly. So this was what Kariya had spoken of. A healing factor that effectively nulled any physical damage.

The worms frothed with greenish liquid and landed on the ground, a tide of them crawling their way towards Valentine, forcing him to run in long, looping circles to evade. The fluids that oozed from the fat, carnivorous worms hissed and smoked as it ate through the ground, corroding the world.

"The Corpse, as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Valentine, bestows a certain type of blessing to its owner. The Eyes have given me _power!_ This is my Stand! _The Golden Eel!"_ The Stand materialized in front of Zouken. Its torso was vaguely humanoid in shape, but the legs had been replaced with a long, winding tail, its entire body scaled with cucumber green scales, chitinous and buglike. More than an eel it looked like a huge Crest Worm, swollen and bloated with fluid, blood taken from victims. It had no face, merely a smooth surface where a man's head would be and its arms were covered in slime.

Now the stage was set for battle. Zouken with a Stand was a far more dangerous foe than Valentine had initially anticipated. Even with the power of his _Dirty Deeds_ , he knew he was not invincible. Diego Brando and Hot Pants had proven that on the train fight. It was best not to get too cocky.

Archer swept his flag across the floor and like magic the Crest Worms disappeared into another world, another reality where they would never be able to bother him again. In the same movement, three additional Valentine's came into being, seemingly coming into existence out of the folds of the flag.

"End him." The original, the shirtless one with Dirty Deeds circling close by, gave an order while Zouken watched in curiosity. What sort of power was this? Duplication? At least it was quite easy to tell apart who was the original and who were the copies; Valentine was shirtless and the others wore long pink coats.

" _Golden Eel!_ " The buglike Stand made a shivering motion and issued a sound, the sound of a dinosaur vomiting. The smooth carapace covering the Stand's head folded open, straight down the center. There was a mouth, vertical and looking more vaginal than anything, and from it came a flood of clear green fluid, so hot and acrid that the very air around it began to boil. The earth began to melt, each spot of acid burning through meters of earth. Stone and rubble and dust all floating up, burned to vapor by the fluid. And it kept flowing, closer, ever closer to the crowd of Valentines.

" _Damn!"_ Valentine cursed and wrapped himself in the flag, disappearing. The other Valentines drew their arms, huge revolvers that fired conical bullets that ripped through the air with tearing screams and shouts of thunder. Deafening, deafening noise.

Zouken's Stand, _Golden Eel,_ thrashed its serpentine tail, the end of its body splashing and flinging acid into the air like mist. The bullets, finger sized slugs of lead melted instantly, stinking up the hot air with the smell of heavy metal. Valentine, all three copies of him circled, shooting and shooting, uncaring of how little damage they were doing. But they were silent and worked together seamlessly, all of them thinking the same thing, victory on all their minds.

One didn't dodge, or didn't dodge in time. A Crest Worm that Zouken threw from his body landed on him, burrowing into Valentine's throat and chewing, eating at his flesh. The clone fell to its knees with the expression of death on its face. Shock. Only in movies and books and stories could a man accept death with peace. The worst fate of all is to die, for to die means being barred from the entire world…

The bullets did nothing. Even those that were not melted out of the air, those that impacted against Zouken's body were fruitless. Huge wounds, fist sized holes in the old man's decrepit body issued blood and marrow and bone fragment for only a short while. In an instant the wounds turned to fresh skin.

"Come now, Valentine! You're a Servant! Will you only fight with gun and fist? Is that the limit to your ability? You don't deserve the title of Heroic Servant!" Zouken cackled as his face reformed. "Golden Eel! Melt them all!"

How hot could the world become? Already the atmosphere was heavy and hazy, fifty degrees celsius. Half what it takes to boil water… But around Golden Eel, the air grew even warmer, so much moisture and humidity in the air, so thick and tepid that it could very well induce nausea—

The flag that Valentine had left on the ground was suddenly blown to the side. From it stepped out yet another pair of Valentine's both of them fully clothed now, each one heavily armed. Where did one get a pair of Mossbergs in Japan? They joined the surviving pair from Valentine's initial conjuring, firing their shotguns and blasting holes through Zouken's torso, just wasting ammo and making the old man laugh even harder.

"I've never met a man who hid behind himself, Valentine!" Zouken looked for Valentine's Stand, but could not find it. The clones were indistinguishable save for the fact that two carried pistols and two were armed with shotguns. If the original was part of the quartet, Zouken could not tell. Best to kill them all. Zouken clasped his hands together like he was praying, phrases issued forth in languages long dead to the world and the ground began to quake. Hundreds of worms, their heads like mushroom caps and bodies explicitly phallic, burrowed out of the ground by the thousands, millions. All of them were so hungry and willing to eat…

The group of Valentines shifted their attention to the ground now, blasting at the insects, tearing them apart in clouds of birdshot and gunpowder residue. Kariya had better hurry up… Valentine was running low on ammunition now, and although he could jump to another universe and bring back more, it was useless. Zouken would not die to simple gunfire.

Valentine ran over the sea of Crest Worms, uncaring about how the green-red blood from the worms, popping underfoot like little eggs, stained his clothes, slowly melting at his skin as the blood was corrosive. He bent to pick up the flag, but it was already covered in worms and worm juice, being eaten away. With the tatters of the American flag, Valentine disappeared again, his expression murderous. His counterparts were being eaten apart by acid and torn apart by the Worms.

"Running away now, Valentine?" Zouken asked aloud. His Stand was next to him, still oozing acid. Its face, two flaps of flesh covered in two chitinous shells, fluttered in mock speech, a lewd, disgusting sound. "I don't know what your Stand entails, but it cannot match my _Golden Eel._ You will never have the Eyes…" he watched dispassionately as Valentine's clones melted, turned into a human soup by the acid. And the courtyard was empty, pock marked and ruined by the gunshots, littered with wasted shells and steaming with rock vapor from melted stone, concrete, earth.

In the end the Servant had been defeated rather easily. Zouken turned to the house now, Kariya was likely looking for Sakura or trying to free her from her restraints. The girl was going through some… _interesting_ changes now. Like her peers in the streets, Sakura had also lost her innocence that night. Around his arm snaked a worm, this one perhaps twenty inches long and covered in barbed spines, thicker than a bottle of wine. That had been the worm to take Sakura's virginity… a perfect gift for his foolish son.

"Who are you?"

Zouken knew that voice… it was more familiar than anything in the world. Every thought he had thought and every word he had spoken was with that voice. It was his own and for the first time in decades, he felt fear.

* * *

 _Like tomorrow won't arrive_

It was a miracle.

The only thing that Saber had complete and utter control of was herself; and there was nothing she could have done in that moment hold back the endless human tide. In a hopeless moment, hope came from the strangest of places.

The building collapsed. Some huge force; something had leveled the entire first floor in a single moment. It sank under its own massive weight, concrete cracking and moaning louder than anything. However many hundreds of people had been clamoring up the stairs; they died under tons of rubble. Their blood turning to pudding as it leaked from their broken bodies and mixed with the dust…

"Jump!" Saber sheathed her sword and grasped Irisviel by the shoulders, making a huge leap from the falling roof top toward the glass face of a neighboring building. She made a mid air turn so that her back would take the brunt of the impact. It was a terrible decision. With the temperature so high, Saber had long since abandoned her armor, and in her panic, she did not think to re equip it.

There was a clattering, shattering of the glass breaking apart, the shards flying and cutting everything, drawing blood and cutting, cutting, cutting everything. Saber screamed her displeasure and threw Irisviel across the office suite they had landed in, straight through a wall. Irisviel made a thick sound and Saber could audibly hear something fragile break even over the great cacophony of the world of glass falling all around her.

She heard this twice more. Assassin and Rider had both followed along.

Even a Servant couldn't walk without a leg. A particularly large shard of glass fell from the ceiling, hot to the touch and glinting in the light. It caught her arm, splitting it straight down the middle along the bones, all the way to the elbow. Arterial fluid spurted in a steady cadence, slicking the glass…

She screamed and in her panic drew away from the floor. Dust and papers from the office fluttered everywhere and for a moment, Arturia thought it impossible to master the pain. She proved herself wrong when she did. Summoning her sword and using it as a cane, she hobbled toward the doorless entrance of the cubicle.

Numbly she registered the sound of death outside. The building they had jumped from had fallen into the street, probably crushing dozens and smothering everyone who had been scaling its walls and traversing its stairways. But more than that there came sickening splats, characteristic thuds of bodies impacting against hard, unforgiving surfaces. Someone, their savior, was out there, still fighting.

"Rider! Assassin! Irisviel!" Saber called, her voice hoarse from dust and screaming. The pain was great, this whole War had been pain, constant pain and suffering on her fault; but she couldn't seem to die. Passing through a narrow, boring hallway she reached Irisviel, who was lying on the floor, unconscious, among broken drywall. Splintered chairs and mangled picture frames were all around her.

Any wounds Iri had sustained were already gone, healed over by Avalon. For a brief moment Arturia thought about taking the sheath back, healing herself of her wounds, maybe even the cursed one from Lancer, and marching onwards to Caster. But she knew it to be the wrong course of action. If she took Avalon from Irisviel there was the risk that she might become susceptible to Caster's magic… then she'd join the masses in their day of endless sex.

She turned her head at a noise and caught Assassin walking out from a cubicle at the end of the hall. Like Saber, his body had been badly mangled. His right leg, cut off right where the knee joint ended. Unusable. And without his Master nearby… he would not heal.

"Do you know what happened to Rider?" Saber asked and for the first time felt concern for her fellow Servants. Despite all their flaws, they had proven to be valuable allies against Caster.

Assassin struggled with his cigarette case as he was leaning against the wall to balance the leg he had lost. With his head trembling with exertion, it was as if the cigarette he put in his mouth weighed the world. Saber took his lighter with a roll of her eyes and lit the fag for him.

"Much appreciated." Spy sighed out a cloud of smoke. Usually there was an aura of ease and professionalism about the Servant, but now, with his bum, bleeding leg and tattered suit, he looked no better than a homeless man. "Almost certainly Rider is no longer bound to the material plain. His mana reserves were already running low and if he sustained any great injury from the jump like you and I; it would be the best that he retreat until he can find his Master."

"Damn," Saber gritted out. An ally was gone now, but there still remained Lancer and Archer and even Berserker that could help oppose Caster. "Do you know why the building collapsed? It was fortunate, but too convenient for it to happen."

Finishing up his cigarette with a long, drawn out drag, Assassin threw the butt onto the grey shag carpet and ground the ember out. "Berserker was the one. You can hear him, can't you?" Assassin paused for a moment so that they could listen. Yes, the sounds of combat and destruction, _something_ was outside, perhaps a dozen stories below them, clearing the streets of any and all life. "I don't think the beast will ally with us, but if we point him in Caster's direction, we will win. Berserker doesn't seem at all affected by Caster's brand of magic."

"That's supposing that _butcher_ isn't an even greater threat than Caster. He's out there _killing_ civilians, it must be a massacre! A man, if I can even call him that, such as he cannot understand reason or temperance. Think of the _after_ , Assassin; if Berserker is left unchecked and allowed to rampage, half the city will be destroyed! Half the citizens will be dead! There will be no covering that up and the Mediator will _end the War._ "

Assassin shook his head. Both Servants took seats next to Irisviel who had yet to awaken. Slowly, Saber began to heal, her arm knitting together again as mana from Irisviel was transferred to her body. Assassin, on the other hand, continued to bleed, turning paler by the moment.

"We're a little past the point of being able to cover this up, Saber. The whole city was, _is_ part of an orgy. It's very likely that even the Mediator was affected." A valid, depressing point. Even if Caster was defeated, it might be that the Holy Grail War be canceled… "The best thing to do is to cut our losses. Even though it may seem counter intuitive, we will be saving _more_ lives if we eliminate as many enemies as we can on our way to Caster."

It didn't sit well with her, but Arturia couldn't deny that it was true.

"What would you suggest then?"

Assassin gave a sad grin and unbuckled his watch, this one plain and dated. "Here." He grabbed Arturia by her good arm and clasped the watch around it, much to her confusion.

"What is this?" She brought her wrist to her face to get a good look at the watch. The time read 2:98 AM. What?

"It's no ordinary watch, Saber." Assassin reached over a fiddled with the watch, turning a dial on the side, changing the display to read 3:17 AM. "That's the correct time. 2:98 is how many seconds of invisibility you have left."

Arturia gulped. "You mean, this is…"

"Yes. That watch is one of my Noble Phantasms. You're going to need it for _the plan_."

Suddenly Saber found herself wishing that she hadn't allied with Assassin.

 **AN: Wow, another chapter done!**

 **I'm starting college in two days so expect updates to be very much slower.**

 **Zouken vs. Valentine!**

 **Zouken has the Corpse's Eyes. His Stand,** _ **Golden Eel,**_ **is named after the song by** _ **Ween.**_

 **It's powers include production of a powerful acid. A pretty generic ability for a Stand, but what can a guy do…**

 **Saber and co. vs. Caster**

 **They've had to escape an entire city full of people who want to jump them and rape them. They can't fight back like they would normally because each Servant is disadvantaged against the crowds. Rider doesn't have a Master so his mana is limited. Assassin doesn't have any way of fighting against large numbers. Saber can't use Excalibur because of the wound from Lancer's cursed spear** _ **and**_ **using Excalibur would kill too many people.**

 **Think about how impossible it's going to be for Risei to cover this up. He, like most other people, has been brainwashed by Caster into joining the orgy. If it ends and everyone wakes up next to each other, naked and smelling like sex… that's not going to end well. Remember that Caster's perfume works on a** _ **global**_ **scale. The whole world right now is having a giant, epic orgy and everyone's happy.**

 **Blog post: Tbh I'm losing a lot of motivation in this story. I recently got new writing software that makes it** _ **so**_ **much easier to organize my writing, but since I've been writing** _ **A Holy War**_ **on another program, I can't transfer the story to my new writing software. I'm not even getting that much feedback on this, so I'm thinking of cutting my losses.**

 **Expect updates to be slow.**

 **Please review. If you like this fic, leave some feedback about it. It really motivates me. The reason I write is so that I can get feedback and see what I can improve about my writing.**

 **Until next time!**


	11. It's hot as Hell

_Cut 'em down._

Follow the blood and you'd find God. How many dead already? Thousands just that past hour. Berserker was merciless. Buildings toppled. The earth rose to meet the sky. People burst into pieces, died, still smiling and willing under Caster's control. Berserker cared nothing for it. He had orders for violence and he'd carry them out.

' _Kill Caster. Kill everything between you and he. When the real sun comes up or when the fake sun goes down, I want him dead by then.'_ So said the Lord. Violence was _always_ a solution. Berserker would tear the whole city down in his mad quest to kill his target.

Still, progress was slow. Even while skipping streets all together and tearing holes into buildings to progress through the city, each meter forward was hard fought. Literal thousands of people confronted him at every moment, and their collective blood quickly soaked the ground and became a small, stagnant pool for the flies to feast on. It was only half the city out and about. The rest were still on the ground, engaged in sick worship… Five hundred thousand men and women and children hunting after the Servants… the weight of the bodies was unimaginable. They'd choke on the corpses before getting to Caster. Already from across the country men and women were being drawn to Fuyuki, running without pause, the incoherent burning of their lungs and legs ignored; under thrall they'd run until they forgot how to breath or until their feet were but stubs on their legs. If their tendons tore, they crawled. From across the sea, Koreans tried their chances at swimming to fulfill Caster's order.

The entire country was coming.

Berserker didn't care. He was Nightmare. He was Sin. He was Regret. With his mind set to kill, he would not stop. Every human had Fear. Every human had Shame. Pyramid Head drew from those emotions and grew stronger.

Caster had the entire world as his army. Berserker had hatred as his sword.

Who'd win?

Berserker swung his sword in a horizontal arc, killing thousands at once. The mere wind from his blade sundered the entire bottom floor of a building, sending it to the floor, crushing frenetic worshippers, some fucking and yet others running madly; they all died the same. Their love did not protect them.

' _Come world, I'll bury you all.'_

Under his helmet there were no eyes, just shrunken black pits that had long since crusted over. Instead of color and light Pyramid Head sensed the world through the emotions of the men and women around him. A sea of pink, not really pink but a color outside of human comprehension, that signified the pure love and lust that the masses held. They wanted so badly to teach him, the brute to be one of them… but his reproach was sharp. Murder met their moaning cries for togetherness and unity.

' _Love will kill you all.'_

Toward the river, on a high rooftop was a presence, a delectable morsel of shame and regret that Berserker relished just sensing. _This_ was why he had been summoned to the Holy Grail War. He was the punisher and the other Servants, with their regrets and self-loathing, they'd be punished. Sentence was death. Berserker would be victorious. She was dancing, taunting, sword sheathed in mock submission; the image of the damned waiting for Satan to come and deal the sentence…

" _SABER!"_ the titan roared his fury for the world to hear. Berserker was more a creature than he was a man, his words so loud that the entire world seemed to shake. He was hungry for her guilt. The girl, the tragic King of Knights; she was the ultimate prize. So the monster chased, desperate, loping steps taking him closer and closer to his goal. His quarry fled toward the river. The eye of this hurricane of love where the storm would clear and the sky would turn yellow for _just one moment long enough for Berserker to end it all._

* * *

 _This place ain't big enough for the two of us_.

The first thought was unimaginable. The second, less so. When humans are faced with something impossible, too terrifying to even consider; they push it aside…

Zouken did not understand. He was standing across the courtyard from himself, staring at what he had only seen in mirrors before. A body. His body. His wrinkled face, his cane, his clothes… a replica down to the last hair follicle. It was he, Zouken Matou, facing himself.

His Stand curled protectively around him, fluttering and cooing, dripping pus like acid from its gaping axe wound of a mouth.

Fierce and withering the sun watched on, arbiter over this standoff. The insects were dropping from the skies now, sweat steaming on the sidewalk. It was hot as Hell… soon enough even the Crest Worms would start to die, burst most likely as their blood turned to sick vapor.

"Who are you?" Zouken asked in his old, tired voice. "You have my body, and it seems that you even have my _Stand_. My _magic._ " The counterpart, the _pretender_ , had around him an identical copy of _Golden Eel._ Even an accompanying cloud of Crest Worms that hung around, buzzing and ready to respond. "But you cannot be _me._ I am myself."

The _self_. The individual could respond to anything but the _self_. The _self_ was supposed to be a contained entity, hidden in the mind and psyche, locked away in a prison of flesh and bone, a throne room for the conscious. Zouken, both of them, he (they?) could not respond. They could only stand and watch and circle each other, scanning for nonexistent weaknesses. Who could find fault in themselves? Zouken was proud, and no matter how truthfully he may have believed the other to be a false representation of himself, he could not find a single mistake in the pretender. It was as if the copy had surpassed the original.

"Zouken Matou," the second declared. "And you?"

Was it insanity to talk to oneself? Zouken didn't know. _Both_ Zouken Matous did not know. It was impossible to know. In all his centuries of life he hadn't ever had to speak with himself.

"I find myself skeptical. _I_ am Zouken Matou."

"He told me you'd say that."

Who?

"The President," Zouken the Second elaborated, "Valentine warned me of a pretender that was seeking to tarnish my name. To take my place. You're my enemy," he stated, pointing with his cane. "You may look like myself and talk as I do; you may even have the same _Stand_ and _Familiars_ as I do; but you are not me. _I_ am me. _I_ am the Head of the Matou Family."

Zouken had enough.

" _Golden Eel!"_ His Stand jerked from its seeming slumber and opened its mouth, shattering the carapace down the middle and flapping its meaty lips. A stream of acid as thin as a dime shot out, cutting through the air, through stone, and dirt. A hundred meters below the jet of acid slowed to a stop and began to bubble, eating through the bedrock… Zouken the Second was eviscerated, cut in half by the high pressured stream and then eaten away by the acid that pooled to the clean, fluid cut wound in his stomach. He melted, laughing.

"You really are me!" How Zouken could speak with his lungs turned to mush, he would never understand. "Even your Stand has the same powers! Valentine was right! A perfect copy awaited me…"

He knew he would not die from such a wound, nothing short of annihilation on a fundamental, quantum level would ever end his life. If this pretender really was the same as the himself… Zouken did not know if he could defeat himself. Was this what Valentine had meant when he claimed Tokiomi had committed suicide?

"You're misunderstanding the situation, Zouken." The original tried to reason. "Valentine is playing you, he wishes to _destroy_ me, and he will do the same to you once _I_ am defeated." Zouken's mind fired rapidly, thinking of an explanation for the clone. How could Valentine have created such an accurate copy? The pretender's Stand exchanged volleys of acid with his own Stand, fogging the world with stone vapor. A complete stalemate. They even thought the same things.

"He told me you'd say that as well." By now the second Zouken had healed from his wounds. Ugly, blackened wounds healing, morphing from one form of tissue to the next. He stood tall, no cane to aid him for it had been turned to soup by the acid… "You're Tokiomi's doing. That jealous, petulant, child of a man created you to kill me. I am grateful to Archer for warning me of such a threat. And I will see you and your Master both dead."

"I am no copy. Tohsaka is already dead. If you would just stop to listen—"

"He told me—"

"He probably said that I would say that as well, yes, I understand now." Zouken stepped forward. His counterpart stepped forward. Neither of them were fully cognizant of their actions, it was simply an unconscious movement; the soul responding to some unknown fate. It was the first step of many that would lead to the final doom.

* * *

Armed with a watch, her armor heating in the dreadful sun above; Saber ran, the river her destination, the end of it all in sight. Below her the groups of revelers alternated from sex to chasing her down. She had never felt more hunted in her life. The terror of the battlefield did not begin to encompass the primal fear growing, the fear of succumbing to the pressure of the world, the fear of being caught by the masses, torn apart and taken as an unholy sacrifice…

Saber was a virgin. The world would eat her.

" _Lead him, Saber. Lure Berserker to Caster and end this day. End this shame. At any and all costs you must fight against the day. This August light here in the autumn… you must end it."_ So said Assassin.

This was the best way, only way for victory. Rider, eliminated by injury and lack of mana, Assassin, crippled much the same had been charged with protecting Irisviel and while Saber had troubled thoughts about leaving her friend with the untrustworthy Servant, but needs must when the Devil rises…

She was being torn between goodness and duty, she thought to herself. Her duty to protect her charge and the burden of goodness. Spy was correct to say that Caster took priority over everything else. The sheer evil he wielded… co-opting _love_ for his own nefarious purpose— but what could Saber say? She knew nothing of love or sex or of intimacy. Her knights, her closest friends had berated her for being so cold, so distant, so _fucking kingly_ that the kingdom began to fear her, respect her, but always with that cold tinge of fear or reproach when they criticized her in their small evening tavern conversations…

From behind her Berserker roared his fury and Saber felt his looming, dirty presence begin to grow. It was strange to hear the death rattle of dozens ring every second. How many would die on this endless, false day? It was already growing so hot that people fell to the asphalt, their flesh cooking on the blacktop, sizzling like eggs. How many thousands, dozens of thousands, _hundreds of thousands_ of innocents would die because of this War? How many had already died? And could one even measure what sort of tragedy would arise from this loss of innocence? Children too were in the streets… their parents and grandparents and teachers and neighbors and pets all joining in the _fun._

Damn that Caster. Saber could only hope that Berserker would kill him. How was it that they were all so helpless? Even with their brief alliance Rider and Saber and Assassin couldn't even approach the man without losing themselves… this was their desperation. End the endless day or die watching the world succumbing to Caster's twisted love.

But the river was far. For the first time since she had been summoned as a Servant, Saber felt fatigue. Her legs grew cramped as she leapt from building to building and her armor grew gradually heavier, burning through her clothes and scalding her shoulders. Too far… would she die here? Berserker was closing in on her, enthusiastic in his violence. It seemed that the beast was immune to the natural pull of Caster's magic, or perhaps they weren't close enough to the source yet. If even Berserker succumbed, it would all be over.

Soon enough, even she would fall to the magic. She would join the masses below and she'd _enjoy it_ , just as the others did, just as the entire world did. Not even a dozen people were exempt from the wave of lust to sweep over the planet. It was a terrible thing to know that she was marching towards a fate worse than death, the death of her innocence and purity; but she was a _King_ , and she did her duty.

' _It's not so bad a price. I'll gladly give up my maidenhead to save the world.'_

So said she. It was something that her Master, her Summoner would have approved of. Kiritsugu wanted nothing more than to save the world, remove all pain and suffering in a way that wasn't too dissimilar from Caster's utopia… It was what they all wanted. In their each and every different way the Servants all wanted some sort of utopia, a place where they would be happiest.

For Iskander it was a world he could conquer.

For Valentine it was a world with his country at the top.

For Arturia… it was a world where she was gone.

* * *

"Little girl, little girl…"

Despite it being the brightest of days, Rin shrieked with fear. There was no darkness here. Even in the shade of the forest she had run off to she felt the sun's murderous anger. The small babbling brook she had played in just days before was no more than a trickle now and behind her was a man, a stranger, looking for her. So many strangers had been after her, naked, groping, moaning men and women, boys and girls, barking dogs and neighing horses… they had been chasing her with some strange purpose on their minds that Rin could not begin to know. Had they caught up with her? She hadn't _wanted_ to hurt them, but it had been necessary, _impossible_ not to. Her _ghost_ had hurt them…

Preparing for the potential threat, _Hungry Like the Wolf_ , solidified next to her, ever angry and snarling face scanning the bushes and shadows for whomever might have been lurking.

"Who's there?" Her voice came out as a soft tremolo filled with worry. The men from before had been scary…

"I knew your father."

Rin perked up. Her father? She hadn't seen him in so long that she couldn't quite remember his face. How was he again? Tall, Rin remembered. Tall and handsome with a scratchy little beard that prickled against her face everytime she reached towards him for a hug… but she couldn't remember what he looked like.

"Where's my dad?" Rin asked. She still hadn't caught sight of the man. Her mother had always warned her against strangers, but the man _did_ claim to have known her father. "Can you take me to him?"

"Perhaps another day," the stranger said.

From behind a tree, Rin finally caught a glint of gold.

"I see you, mister."

Following her words, Rin heard a sigh; tired and just a bit sad.

"Very well then." The man stepped forward from his place behind the tree trunk; a foreigner with a river of blond hair and deep blue eyes. His face was strangely memorable, as if Rin had seen it somewhere… "My name is Funny Valentine. A friend of your father's. I heard that you have something of mine."

Confusion colored Rin's face. What could she possibly have that the man might want?

"Um… excuse me? I've never even met you Mr. Valentine."

"Does that make a difference?" The president asked. He hated to deal with children, he truly did. They were just so… curious. It was one of the reasons that he and Scarlet never had children. Valentine entered the small forest clearing that Rin stood in, briefly surprised at the frothing pink and gold wolfman standing next to the girl. So the Corpse had given her a Stand… "Tell me Rin, do you feel strange? Have you been seeing strange things recently?"

The girl nodded her small head tentatively. "Not the first part, but…" she hesitated to continue. Should she tell the man about her imaginary friend? The ghost that had been haunting her? "Weird stuff has been happening recently."

"You're right." Valentine nodded sagely. He could _feel_ the Arm, the Right Arm of the Corpse that was stuck inside Rin's body. All that was left to do was to take it. "But stranger things have happened." Valentine summoned his Stand. The girl, young and new to this business as she was, likely had no idea of what a Stand was, or the limits of her own. She was no threat. "You can see him, can't you? My _Dirty Deeds._ "

And now for the first time, Rin smiled, gawked wide mouthed and starstruck. "Oh gosh! You have one too! Can you see mine? Isn't he pretty?" Rin giggled. Strangely enough Mr. Valentine felt trustworthy. There was a certain camaraderie she felt for him, another person who could see the same ghosts as she could.

" _It_ is called a _Stand._ It's a manifestation of your inner spirit, your immortal soul."

"A Stand? That's cool I guess… does everyone's look different?" Rin ran forward, closer than she should have perhaps, to inspect Valentine's Stand. It looked funny with its tall rabbit ears and pink accents. "What can they do? All I know is that mine can punch stuff. Wait," Rin had a sudden realization. "Are you a Mage too? My daddy's a mage."

"The word is _Magus_ , I believe, and no, I'm not a Magus. Certainly I am a bit magical." He stepped towards Rin's right, using the girl's fawning over _D4C_ to go unnoticed. Quickly, Valentine reached out and grabbed the girl by the wrist of her right arm, seizing his opportunity. "Each Stand is unique, just as every human being is unique. _Now be still._ "

Rin tried to pull back, but the President's grip was tight. "Let go of me!"

"You have something of mine, little girl. Once I have it I will tell you where your father is… so calm down. _Just be calm._ " Almost now, Valentine could feel it. The Corpse called for the Corpse, pulling it from immaterium and non existence, bringing forth the shard of divinity that dwelled in this little girl's unworthy body. He wrenched Rin's arm at an unpleasant angle, causing her to cry out, and just like that it was over. The seventh Part of the Corpse. The Saint was almost whole. The Right Arm was in his hand and quickly blending with his flesh, choosing him as its new owner. "There. We're done."

The little girl wouldn't stop her crying. Her garish Stand faded away, its user too distracted and inexperienced to use it through pain. "That hurt! My arm… you broke it!" She wiped her face against her shirt. Staining it with tear. She turned to run away but only let out a small choking noise as her shirt's collar tugged back against her throat.

"Don't run, little girl. I have questions for you, just as you have questions for me."

"Where's my dad?" Rin cried. The man had grabbed her by her shirt just as she had turned to run and had thrown her to the forest floor. "I wanna see my dad!"

"Your father's dead." If the girl hadn't been so important to Kariya, Valentine would have killed her. Children… always so tearful and quick to scream. There was no reason to lie to her. "You're wrist is only sprained. I didn't mean to do so, but you moved too much. You see," Valentine brought the Right Arm into his hand, and held it in front of the girl's face. "This Arm belongs to me. It has belonged to me for the last two hundred years, _now where did you find it_?"

She looked to her feet, sobbing, hiccuping. "Where's my daddy?" Even through her grief Rin felt herself grow warmer. Not in the way of actual temperature, she was already sweaty and nasty from the sun, but her _blood_ seemed to be bubbling in the most pleasant of ways. Unnatural considering she was inconsolate. All she wanted was to be held now…

"The man known as Tokiomi Tohsaka is dead. He killed himself." Valentine stood high and cold, lording above Rin with a dead, dispassionate expression on his face. The girl was hugging, clutching at his pant leg and he realized that Caster's magic would soon take hold of the girl…

But his purpose was fulfilled. All that was left to do was to bring the girl to Kariya and reunite her with her sister. Hopefully their mother would survive the endless night. "I was an associate of your father's. I will reunite you with your sister if everything works out and we will never see each other again. Do you understand?"

"But my daddy? He can't be dead! He was the best! He was _magic!_ "

"The world is a cruel place, Rin. I too lost my father around your age." An old wound that had long since scarred over. It was a formative experience, Valentine knew, one that had taught him of virtue and patriotism that he followed for the rest of his life.

"Did daddy tell you to come save me?"

"Your father has been dead for over a week now."

The girl was blubbering now, and Valentine had to physically drag her along the forest floor. "But mama… she said that I'd get to see him again!"

And she would. Some day she would, but not tonight. Valentine sighed and picked the girl up, awkwardly shifting as she latched onto his shoulders, rubbing the scars on his shoulders. He could feel her thin, young ribs brush against his broad chest as she heaved from sorrow.

"You will. I promise that you will."

* * *

She was in a kitchen. A Keurig on the countertop had just poured a cup of steaming coffee and something on the stove was simmering. But she was not at home. This place was far too modern, and from what Irisviel could see, the sole exit of the kitchen showed only a boring, drab, grey corridor. The Einzbern Castle had been beautiful, but cold. Here it was warm, but not uncomfortably so.

"Saber?" She called. "Kiri? Are you there?" But the world was just so quiet. There wasn't any response that she could hear other than a thump and drag in the hallway. What had happened earlier? A slight throb in her head and she couldn't remember. They had been somewhere bright and hot. Saber and herself and two men she couldn't quite place.

Oh yes, there had been an orgy. None of _their_ group had participated of course, but the rest of the world had been so enthusiastic in their love, enough to give Irisviel a blush just thinking about it. Strange… why had that happened?

"Ah, you're up already. I took the liberty of preparing some food for you." A man was standing in the doorway, favoring one leg. His face was covered in a mask and it seemed a scene out of some movie she had watched long ago… Assassin! That was the man.

"Yes, though I don't remember too clearly. What are you making?"

"Just a can of soup I found lying around. I doubt anyone will mind. It's no _Soupe à L'oignon,_ but I thought you might be hungry." Assassin set a plastic bag on the counter as he made his way to the stove. "I also found flour and milk and eggs. I could make crepes if you'd like."

Irisviel nodded. Food was always good, but there was something else on her mind. "Where's everyone else?"

Assassin's shoulders seemed to droop slightly. He let out a sigh while pouring the soup into two small ceramic bowls found on the shelves.

"And where are we? I remember being outside, with Saber… we were running from something, all of us together I mean. Where'd she go?"

The man limped over, placing bowl of soup and spoon in front of Irisviel.

"I'll tell you while you eat. You must have hit your head pretty hard."

The food was good. A warm tomato bisque and a plate of crepes on the way.

"We were after Caster, remember? You, Saber, Rider, and I all together."

"And the people outside, they were having sex. Why?" Irisviel asked while blowing to cool the hot soup.

"Something Caster did, no doubt. That's why we allied with one another. That's why I haven't killed you yet. Saber is off to kill the man. Since my injury prevents me from doing much," he said pointing to his damaged leg, "I elected to stay behind. I'm not healing anytime soon without my Master."

"That's not a very good explanation…" Irisviel devoted several minutes to finishing the soup and stood at Assassin's shoulder by the stove, marveling at the fluffy, airy pancake that was cooking on the pan. "Where's my husband?"

His glare was reproach and apology all at once. "Somewhere outside. He was unable to resist Caster's spell."

It was a terrible thing to hear.

"You mean he's out there? With another woman?" She felt the hotness of jealousy spin the room about. Of course it wasn't Kiritsugu's fault, but… didn't it reflect badly on herself that she couldn't protect the man she loved?

"Not necessarily," Assassin seemed deeply unhappy to speak on this issue, hiding his discomfort by concentrating on the crepes. "He might be with another man, or with a child, or—" The slap didn't hurt, but it _did_ knock the crepes to the floor, ruining them.

"Don't talk about him like that. He's my husband."

And just like that Irisviel thudded against the wall, Assassin dangerously close with his knife in hand, flashing in the dead light of the kitchen, a bothered expression playing on his face, the lines and contours of the lips. "Don't hit me. I'm not your wallflower little girlfriend. You're only alive because of an agreement between Saber and myself and _I hope you die_ before the night is up. Your husband is gone. Do you understand?"

The knife sank into the drywall easy as anything. "If you don't, you should at least try. This isn't about you. This isn't about your husband. This is about the War and innocence and what's good and what's bad. You are a victim." Spy seemed to consider this and eased his tone for just a moment, folding and dropping the balisong back into his pocket. "You are a victim, but you are not helpless. You have magic. You have a Servant. You are not under Caster's thrall… and for the moment, you have me. _What will you do?_ "

"You mean you want me to choose? You want me to do something?" Irisviel asked, confused, scared; never before had she been given the responsibility to choose. Her whole life she had listened and obeyed, heeded the words of her husband and those wiser than her. It was that inescapable nature of her being. As a homunculus she had no free will, no emotions; but as a woman she had no say, no right to an opinion— she hadn't ever wanted one, had never known that it was an option.

"That's your decision, Irisviel. You will choose and you will bear the consequence. That's what being a human is all about, isn't it? Free will. Choice. We have a choices to make and that's infinitely more than what the people out there have." It was the reason he hated Caster in the first place. Not only was he corrupting children with his perversity, but the Servant had also rid the people of choice. "If you can't choose, you aren't truly alive. All people should be able to make a choice." He seemed deeply sad at that, looking at the ruined crepe that lie cooling on the ground with a mournful expression. "You _have_ to choose."

But she hadn't done this before, not like this. The small things, what to eat, where to go… never things like _how to save the world_ or _how to kill a man_ ; she had always left that to her husband. But now he was out somewhere having the time of his life in the most depraved way possible, unwittingly, reluctantly driving fire through Iri's heart— what _could_ she do? She was just one woman with one ally.

"We can't do anything, Assassin. If we go out the people will start chasing us again and with you injured and low on mana, we won't be able to get far. We should stay put. We can't do anything."

"You can _always_ do something." But Spy left it at that. He felt quite a bit disappointed that the girl hadn't chosen to go out, but he would stay with her. He had promised Saber, after all.

How long did they sit in silence? All Spy did was smoke and watch Irisviel fidget out the corner of his eye until finally, breakingly the homunculus spoke. "I thought of something."

"Yes?"

But she didn't know if it was alright to say. Kiritsugu and Saber both had said to keep Avalon as secret as possible… but there was no other option, was there? Not while those poor men and women, children and animals continued to be happy against their wills…

"My husband entrusted me with an artifact, the catalyst for Saber's summoning. I trust you know who she is?"

"Saber is the legendary King Arthur."

Irisviel nodded and continued. "Anyway, we used Avalon, the blessed scabbard that Arturia was gifted during her lifetime, to summon her. Once the ritual was done, Kiritsugu gave it to me for safekeeping." She turned to face Assassin, looking him directly in the eye. "It's why I survived you shooting me in the chest."

"And so?"

This would mean _choice_ , such a terrible burden it was to have to choose to walk to her doom… No one was going to push her. She would have to step and step towards death.

"It's why I'm here talking to you. It's the reason I'm not down there with the rest of the people. Avalon, the _Ever Distant Utopia_. It's the embodiment of Arturia's dream of a perfect world, you know. And it's sitting here in my chest."

And then it was all so clear what they had to do. They had been sitting there, wasting time, prolonging the false paradise sparkling outside. Each word they exchanged was another man stricken by heat exhaustion or dead of sensory overload, another child fallen prey to pleasures they shouldn't have known about for another decade.

' _What if it was Illya out there?'_ She didn't know that Caster's spell spanned the globe.

"So what will you do?"

She'd do what her husband had always spoken of. She'd save the world, she'd save the world even if it would mean losing everything for it, even if the world hadn't given her anything, she'd do the right thing for the sake of doing the right thing.

"I'm going to give Avalon to my husband. It'll be up to him then to stop Caster."

He had known that it would come and couldn't help but smile once it did. The lengths that people would go to save the world… He reloaded his gun, spinning the six chambers with glorious mechanical precision. In his pocket was the Dead Ringer, his right wrist strangely bare, his Enforcer gleaming and freshly fed, ready to kill.

"Then let's go."

* * *

An unearthly scream, two men in utter agony, both erasing themselves from the face of the earth. Kariya heard this and flinched. What was going on out there? The screams had sounded strangely old and hoarse, but why two? Why had two people screamed at once? He couldn't begin to puzzle it out. One may have been Zouken, but Valentine didn't sound at all like the voice that had been screaming.

He brushed it from his mind and set to the basement, traversing the barely remembered convolutions of the Matou estate. Kariya hadn't lived there in years, and his most recent venture there to summon Berserker had been as brief as possible. Everything so fine and richly decorated, all in line with Zouken's taste in aesthetics; it hid something worse than even the sickness running through the minds of the men and women outside. But Sakura knew it, had known it for weeks now.

What pains had that little girl gone through?

Now Kariya neared the basement. Already he could hear light moans, the worms squirming wetly in the green darkness below, _Sakura…_ He ran down skipping two stairs at a time, nearly kill himself when he tripped over his own feet the last several steps, falling, tumbling onto the mucus slicken floor. Worms hissed and popped under his feet, all of them snapping weakly as they died.

He called out weakly. The girl was invisible in this knee deep sea of worms. They weren't biting just yet; in fact, they seemed subdued, quiet and murmuring like a man self-satisfied after a meal. What had happened here?

"Sakura?"

A gurgle from the far side of the room. Kariya waded through the worms, killing hundreds as he slogged through the slimy mess. There was a musty, mushroom cellar smell hanging oppressively in the air. It smelled like a million years of corruption. Finally Kariya's foot bumped against something solid, warmer than the squirming worms around him. Grimacing he cleared the area with his bare hands until a welcome sight arose from the ocean. Sakura's face. Such a pretty face. She looked just like Aoi…

"Don't worry now. It'll be over soon. You'll see your mother, your sister…" her father was dead, but that was for the best. He had damned her to this hell in the first place. Sakura didn't even blink. Had her mind broken under Zouken's torture? "Sakura? Can you hear me?"

"Ugh…" the little girl's moan, cute and throaty, was heavy in the stagnant air. A state worse than death.

What exactly had Zouken done? Kariya couldn't imagine… but he didn't need to. Pulling Sakura out of the pile of worms, he saw that she was completely nude, only a thick membrane of slime covering her, her pubis inflamed and raw, stomach bulging slightly, gurgling. Blood was running down the soft inside of her thigh, dark and evil against her fair, child's skin. God… why was the world so cruel?

No matter how he looked at it, it couldn't have been anything besides fate. Outside the world had gone to shit and in here, in the deepest parts of the Matou Estate, evil had happened. Sakura, raped by worms. She would have been raped by men and women and horses and dogs had she been elsewhere. Kariya cried for her, rushing back through the worms with Sakura held bridal in his arms, safe and secure, his jacket wrapped around her to protect whatever modesty she had left—

"You can take her. She'll be back." From somewhere in the shadow came Zouken's bone chilling voice. "I'll consider it a vacation of sorts. She could use a break. One last taste at happiness until I break her completely." The old man was still alive? What had Valentine been doing?

"You're sick. You're so fucking sick. Do you know that? I can't believe I'm your son."

But Zouken laughed his rattling laugh and Kariya caught the glint of his eyes even though his body was invisible in the darkness where he hid.

"What matters is results. Sakura will be my heir. She must grow into the role."

"You've nearly killed her! Look at her!" Her face, eyes still open, grey as stone and cold enough to match. "Would you have done the same to me? This sort of shit is why I can't call you my father."

"The worms feed off pain in men. In women they feed off sexual pleasure. This is their biology. This is how they are. What can I do?"

"Leave Sakura alone. I'm going to make sure you never see her again."

"You can't do _anything_ , Kariya. I could kill you right now as easily as swatting a fly. Don't forget that my Worms still live in your body, boy. You don't even have a week left in you."

"I'll have a Command Spell by the end of this day. I'll order Berserker to kill you."

But they both knew that would never happen. For all his strength, Berserker would never be able to kill Zouken. The man had gone through too many rituals and surgeries to transform his body and soul into something over human. He'd never die.

"If Valentine couldn't kill me, nothing in this world can. Watch out for that one, _son._ He'll do what it takes to survive." Zouken cackled over giving out advice as a normal father would. "He truly is a terrifying Servant. I doubt anyone in this War could match him…" The power of Valentine's Stand… Zouken only understood it superficially and it still terrified him. What sort of power was it to summon an _exact_ replica of the enemy? And not only that, Zouken had burst into strange, multi celled cubes when he and his clone had touched. Anyone else would have died… every molecule of his previous body had been destroyed, just by a simple touch.

But in the end, Zouken had survived, reformed from nothingness as if he hadn't even been damaged. Of course the experience had been _painful_ , but pain mattered not because he was immortal, or as close to immortal as physically possible. The wonders of grounding the soul to the material plane…

"What are you waiting for? You can go. She'll find her way back home." Zouken smiled and waved his son and the catatonic girl away. "She'll be back."

* * *

A thick, white rope of semen landed on her face and she nearly gagged. Nearly. She didn't have time for such luxuries, Berserker was right behind her and just a mile off now was the river and the bare patch of river bed that Caster was holding his unholy mass on. Just a few hundred meters now and it'd be over. Saber would stop and Berserker would rampage and _Caster would die_. Her sweat, dripping in long, slow rivulets from her forehead blurred and smeared the semen down her eyebrows, eyelashes, flowing uncomfortably down the side of her nose and sending a heady, lewd smell to her brain. It was Hell. Around her was Hell, full of sinners and in the center Satan himself holding court over his crazed followers. Saber had her duty and no matter the obstacle she would persevere—

But the man who had been abusing himself, who had timed himself just so that he'd catch Saber in the fact with his seed: she killed him. A flash of her sword and he died, falling on his back onto a squirming couple who embraced the added dead weight.

' _I'm acting like Assassin,'_ she thought grimly. It was a terrible thing to be in this world. So many times she had wanted to stop and put these people out of their unnatural existences, all of them tangled and sweating together to the point of dehydration, depravity and the final death. There weren't any skyscrapers anymore, no more roofs for her to run atop, just a bare stretch of land, park land, filled with the sounds and smells of orgy. Happiness. Love. Loving. Children being conceived.

She tripped and fell when she caught sight of Lancer. He and his Master, the attractive redhead who's name Arturia could not recall, they were on the floor together, panting and the latter crying out in ecstasy every time Lancer pulled on her hair and thrusted his hips to meet hers— they looked so happy that for a insane moment Saber thought about letting the night run its course. _How?_

Behind her more people died, were crushed, cut, ripped in half and Berserker trudged onwards in horrid, slow efficacy. That one would never stop.

"Lancer!" Arturia leapt over a dog being mounted by a young boy, wiping her mind of the disgusting scene and made her way to the enthralled Servant, clapping her hands and snapping her fingers to try and get his attention. "Lancer! I need your help!" A shine of recognition was extinguished before it ever really came to fruition. "Lancer!"

Damn. The dark Irishman seemed confused for a moment and his thrusting abated. Maybe? Perhaps? No. With a grunt, Lancer turned his attention back onto the sex and his Master who was mewling like a cat, begging for more cock, more attention, more love. And Lancer too looked so hungry, so love stuck— Diarmuid of the Love Spot defeated by love, a once fine knight delegated now to gigolo; it was a shame, a _damn_ shame. Lancer had been the only worthy opponent in all the Holy Grail War and now he was reduced to this?

A million puns involving Lancer and _spears_ ran through her head. Thrusting. Penetrating. Piercing to the core. God, how terrible.

Saber seethed. And tearing her head away from the crowds, away from the noise and wetness; she ran through, pushing every and all obstacles out the way. Here the people were more thickly strewn on the ground. Here no one but Berserker was chasing, and even he was now far back, distracted with one thing or the other. Everyone besides Saber was so, so in love with one another, with the world, with the universe; they were at peace. They were wholly content with what they were doing and whom they were doing and how they would die screwing each other in ways that can't ever be written down. It was harder to get through them, each person grabbing at her ankles, even caught in orgasm they grabbed at Saber's ankles and spray their spittle, their semen, their squirt all over her armor, begging her _please._

" _You're so pretty."_

" _Your hair, it's so fine… come with me."_

" _Don't you want to be loved?"_

It was tempting. But Saber marched on. In the distance Saber could make out the silhouette of a man standing with his arms thrown to the side, utterly alone in this sea of sex. The person nearest to the figure was a hundred feet away, kissing the ground as the man behind him penetrated him deeply.

"Caster!" Saber kicked out, dislodging a little girl's hand that had been at the hem of her battle dress. "I've come to kill you!" She shouted but did not know if he could hear. Her voice, _she_ was so weak. The journey had taken much from her and she was so, _so_ tired. All she wanted was to lie down and to be held… "Come forth!" But her throat felt as if it were breaking along with her will to fight. Every step was a step towards… she did not know.

"Caster!"

" _Caster!"_ The atmosphere shifted as the world repeated her cry.

Saber looked around and her fear, hidden under hundreds of layers of courage and willpower, came to surface. The whole crowd had turned their heads towards her, staring blankly with expressions of the highest joy, even as they moved in organic precision. Each and every eye in the world was focused on her, staring, waiting; even those a hundred miles away were staring in her direction. People on the other side of the world were craning their necks downwards as if they could stare through the earth itself. She had their attention.

" _Caster!"_ They parroted again and like a maestro directing a symphony, the man in the distance, the one who had been standing alone for so many endless hours, bent at the waist in a long, drawn out bow. " _Saber! We love you!"_ The world shouted, loud and clear and echoing through every valley and corner of existence. " _Love us back! Love us! Please just love us!"_

Arturia drew her sword, but her arm was trembling, quivering like a leaf. There was a chill now running through her blood, icy even in the sweltering sun that seemed ready to consume the world with its fire. Caster came closer, walking slowly, laughing at her weakness.

" _ **Is this the same girl who seemed so ready for cruelty? You wanted to kill me, didn't you? You wanted to kill me since the day we first met. You wanted to kill me in the forest where we fought, but you couldn't. You couldn't. You can't. You. You. You. You're a failure. No true king. Just a girl. Just a girl. Just a girl."**_ Caster spoke with the voice of god, somehow speaking in a muted, quiet tone that carried over the din of the crowds and drowned out all noise, even as the congregation of orgy goers continued to fuck and whisper to each other. " _ **I can teach you to be a woman, Saber."**_

Caster, hateful Caster, drew close, too close, close enough to lick her face. But close as he was, Saber could not move. Her arms, legs, too heavy for her body. The electric cold was replaced by the sweetest warmth, her cheek felt as if it were on fire, wet fire where Caster's rough tongue brushed saliva all over her face.

" _ **I can smell that you've never loved."**_ And he could. Now that he was God, Grenouille could smell everything. The past, present, and future all lived in the air. " _ **How does it feel to have never loved? To have never been loved? I ask because I know how terrible it is."**_

She had to talk. There was no other option. God was asking and Arturia had to speak.

"I know what it's like to love. I know what it's like to be loved. I had a wife—"

He let out a low, tinkling laugh that was echoed by the people all around, all of them still staring even as they continued their depravity.

" _ **A woman. You married a woman whom you cared nothing for. You did it for your country. All those dreams of love and companionship that all little girls have— they all died young, didn't they? You never even got a taste of it. All you got was an unwilling, unfaithful, sullen trophy…"**_

"I grew to love her. Eventually. It was real, we never…" Saber blushed, "we never consummated, not really, but we loved each other…"

" _ **She loved another man."**_

And so she did. Guinevere and Lancelot. Saber's wife and her most loyal knight… caught _in flagrante delicto_ and condemned. Their only crime had been to love each other…

"I don't want to hear this." The fire in her stomach, burning a sweet pain through her whole body, Saber couldn't take the pleasure anymore, her knees grew weak and she collapsed to the floor, quivering and moaning. "You've won, Caster. End it now. Give me this courtesy at least." God, how terrible it was to love oneself. Even worse was that even the emotion of outrage was restricted from her. She could not feel anger, or hate, or bitterness. All that was left was the audacity to love and be loved by the entire world. "Please." She struggled to keep her hands from her clothes, she wanted nothing more than to rip them off and let the men have their way with her, but she _couldn't._ She still had her dignity, her honor, but it was all fading so quickly… She spoke as slowly as possible, realizing that she had either overestimated herself or underestimated Caster's magical ability. It was getting extremely difficult to resist the compulsion now and all Arturia could do was hope that Berserker would arrive soon.

" _ **You don't get to bargain with God, Arturia. Love is an act of becoming. It is not a state of being. Humans do not fall in love,"**_ he spoke as if he was no longer human, referring to the species as a collective. " _ **It is not some sort of strange grace or intelligence that falls upon the mind. Love is modified by the will, moment by moment, day by day, the soul shapes it. The mind becomes it. Love is everything…"**_

"Damn you." She whispered. It was unnerving how alone she felt, how small and weak she felt even as the entire world stared at her, waiting on every word, every breath of the conversation between Caster and herself. "You're insane, Caster. Worse yet you're insane _and_ you have a twisted, perverse mind. If you have any sort of human decency you'd stop, you'd stop this, you'd stop this." She spoke as slowly and as eloquently as possible, trying to buy time for Berserker to catch up with her. _Where_ was he? Pyramid Head hadn't been very far behind her, and without any apprehension about killing or any regard for self-preservation, Berserker should have been here by now… was there some other reason, a variable she hadn't accounted for that was holding the madman at bay?

Somehow sensing her confusion (smelling it?), Caster answered her unspoken question. " _ **You're waiting for Berserker aren't you? He'll be here soon enough. He's busy doing… things."**_

Arturia said nothing, simply opting to hang her head in defeat.

" _ **People will never stop being in love, Arturia. That's all this is. I've touched their souls. I've broken through the castle walls that each and every person puts up to protect themselves of hate and harm. I couldn't stop this if I wanted to. All these people are in love. Truly they are in love. I would hate to break apart such a bond."**_

"This isn't love! How can you call this love, Caster? This is perversion! Nothing else! The people in the streets… they don't know each other, they don't know anything but the world you've built for them! They're your slaves! What you call love can't be anything other than thralldom!"

" _You don't know anything of love."_

" _She doesn't."_

" _Doesn't know anything."_

" _Nothing, she knows nothing."_

The audience began to whisper to themselves, to each other, each of them confirming the suspicions of the other.

" _Who's she to say that this isn't love?"_

The world gradually came to a consensus that Saber was wrong. That she had no place to judge them. A person without love could never know what love was… God was the only one who could do that. He who needed no love, who wanted no love, who _was_ love and hate and everything in between all at once without contradiction; only God could judge.

She was… she was a woman, a girl really. That was her place. That was her role, her number and lot assigned in life that, try as she might, stood more base and fundamental than anything she might have aspired for. Before Arturia was a knight or king; she was a girl. She couldn't find the words to defend herself from the harsh whispers and gossip of the world. She was shaking, trembling in front of this man, this _God_ in front of her who smelled like all the heavens she had ever dreamt of and a million, uncountable million more. Her mind built a thousand endless paradises, each one greener and more splendid than the last— it was like having Avalon again, that famed blessing from the land of the fairies… but something about these fantasies made is so clear, so assured that once she gave in, she'd be happy forever. This was something she would never, ever lose, happiness that she would never forget or misplace. It would never be taken from her so long as she complied with Caster's wishes. It couldn't be ruined. It was unbreakable.

" _ **Come, Arturia. Come and rest against my shoulder. Soon this day will die. Don't you hear the winter wind crying? Being alone is a darkness that comes without a warning… But I'll sing you lullabies and wake you in the morning. You'll be happy. You'll be loved. You will love. Take my hand. Don't you see? Hurry, dear, another day is dying."**_

The night, the cruel, bright night grew ever colder, even as the sun beat down on Arturia's sweat strewn brow. She couldn't breath. Her lungs hitched and shrank, devoid of air. It was cold, scalding cold, hot, so hot that the very molecules of her being seemed to vibrate so violently that they froze in place, exhausted. Caster smiled and something broke inside of her. The integral organ that had facilitated her resistance, whatever moral or ideal that had kept her strong against the pernicious force of Caster's spell, it disappeared with a single flash of Caster's too small, plaque covered teeth, each of them crowding in his unwashed mouth like huge, crooked tombstones..

"I can't. I can't do it, Caster."

" _ **You can, Arturia. Remember that the highest happiness we can hope for is the conviction that we are loved."**_ He was standing there, smiling, with his hand outstretched, love in his eyes and in his words, so ugly yet so attractive at the same time. Sincere. More sincere and truthful that anything Arturia had ever seen or heard. He was so kind, so true… just as a God should be. Mercy. Love. Goodness. How could she have been so blind? Caster was the Way, the Truth, and the Life…and she was not worthy.

"How can you accept me? I've fought you time and again. I tried to kill you. I've said so many terrible things to and about you. It was blasphemy, I understand now; but that doesn't excuse my sin. I deserve Hell." She was broken now, even with her vaunted magical resistance she could not resist forever. Caster's spell was one of the soul. The eternities that he promised were so vivid and divine and subconscious that none could resist the grand delusions painted by the wonderful smell lifted from all those dead, murdered girls. Saber saw herself as king once more. This time her subjects loved her for her kindness. This time her wife, Guinevere, stood by her side, smiling, and the girl-king loved, truly loved her wife, and was loved back. Her knights stood near, all of them brave and ready to mete out justice to wrongdoers, to fight back the foreign hordes— it was beautiful.

"How can you accept me, Caster?" Arturia bit her tongue. "Grenouille, how? How can you forgive me? I've done so much wrong… I don't deserve your forgiveness."

" _ **It's God's duty to forgive those who love him. Arturia, my sweet, sweet girl… all you have to do is**_ **love.** _**That's the answer to all your pain, all your regret."**_ Grenouille swept his arm across the horizon, pointing towards the orgy, somehow making it seem the most noble thing Saber had ever born witness to. " _ **Join them in love. That's all I ask. You'll be forgiven. You'll be accepted. You'll be happy. To love another person is to see the face of God, and I'm right here for you."**_

Tears leaked from Saber's eyes and boiled away as they hit the hot dirt ground. She was so glad… Her sword clattered to the ground and her voice gave way to sobs, loud and heaving. She hadn't cried in so long…

"I've… I regret so much, Caster. I screwed up my life. I drove my kingdom to the ground, I drove away my closest friends, and so much war. I started and ended so many wars… I don't deserve mercy."

Kneeling down to her level, Grenouille patted her on the head, ruffling her shimmering hair. " _ **You're just like me, Arturia. I never knew love either. All my life I was alone, my first action in life, the first cries I gave as a child led to my mother's execution… I took the beatings. I survived disease and starvation just as you survived battle and war— and just as you grew into your role as king, I too became a ruler. You had a kingdom of men and women, I had one of scent and memory."**_

" _ **I was naive back then. Too hasty in rejecting my right as God on earth, but I rejected it all the same. Back then I just wanted to be loved. Now that I've been summoned here,"**_ Grenouille's eyes had misted over with tears while he reminisced about his past life, a story that none had ever heard before, one that none would ever hear because they were all too damned busy— " _ **I know what's important now. I'm not loved so I must love. This is what it means to be God. I've learned. And so will you. You'll learn until you can't possibly learn anymore."**_

Saber wasn't listening. Already she had surrendered herself to the ocean of men who had been awaiting her. Their greedy hands searching for bare skin, ripping her clothes and armor off her body with fervent precision. Oh God they had been waiting so long, the nude, dirty old men with their cocks half erect and swinging between their legs with the black, hairy roots exposed and stinking the air… dripping foul precum and stroking themselves hard in anticipation. Men of all sizes, ranging from no larger than a finger to having the girth of a soda can and the length of a ruler. Some were rail thin, others fat with hairy bellies and hair tinged grey as if to mark them as _special_. Saber shivered with anticipation. She'd become a woman, a real woman that night. No amount of magic keeping her from aging would change that.

' _Those are going to be inside of me…'_

Nervous and growing damp between the legs, not with sweat but with nectar, Saber knelt and licked her lips, reaching out for the closest organs throbbing shades of red and purple and brown love…

 **AN:**

 **Parts of Caster's words are taken from** _ **Stoner**_ **by John Williams and** _ **Les Miserables**_ **by Victor Hugo.**

 **Poor Arturia! In the end she couldn't hold off after all. I'm predicting that I get a lot of flak for this chapter since Saber is** _ **fucked**_ **, literally fucked. Frankly speaking, I have a love-hate thing for Saber. I think her character design is really pretty, but at the same time she's a childish, selfish, flawed person who refuses to admit it. She hides behind her skill and legacy as King Arthur to mask all her insecurities and fears and social ineptitude (read: autism). She's a great character but she's a weak as a human being.**

 **I agree with reviewers that Caster's powers are ridiculously overpowered, but it makes sense for his character. Something I really hated about the Fate series is that I never had a sense that the heroes would lose. Especially looking at the original Caster in Fate/Zero, he's an ugly and inhuman and even his abilities reflect that. He's so obviously supposed to lose that it's apparent the first time you see him. I wanted to make Grenouille extremely threatening, a truly world ending terror that not many people would be familiar with. He's a normal guy, maybe a bit ugly, but other than that he looks completely normal, nothing that would tell you he's a monster besides the fact that he smells like absolutely nothing.**

 **Compare the monster that Gilles de Rais summoned and the perfume that Grenouille made. Which is scarier? A monster is something that you can at least point a gun or sword at, Grenouille's perfume turns the whole world on its head, taking advantage of the most basic human instinct (to be loved and accepted) and perverting it to the extreme.**

 **About the Zouken fight. I got too lazy to write it out, but it was supposed to be assumed that Zouken and his clone touched each other at some point and killed each other. Zouken survived having his body annihilated because magic and quickly reformed to meet with Kariya. There will be reason for why Kariya was allowed to leave with Sakura in later chapters, likely explained after the Caster arc.**

 **Speaking of the Caster arc, here is a list of what's happened to all the characters so far. It's hard to keep track when there's so many.**

 **Lancer and Sola-ui— they're under Caster's spell and are fucking each other's brains out.**

 **Kirei Kotomine, Risei Kotomine, Waver Velvet— these guys are somewhere in the orgy, doing some strange stuff.**

 **Rider— no longer able to materialize to the physical plane. He's lost too much mana using his Noble Phantasm and healing up his injuries. He needs to get to Waver and get some mana so that he can fight again.**

 **Assassin— injured but not out of the game just yet. He won't heal until he meets up Kiritsugu. Currently assisting Irisviel as best as he can. (He really hates Caster since the spell effectively takes away people's free will. It should be obvious why he hates it so much.)**

 **Valentine and Rin Tohsaka— Valentine has found Rin and has taken the Corpse Arm from her. Obviously Rin is going to fall victim to Caster's spell now…**

 **Kariya Matou and Sakura Matou— Leaving the Matou estate with Zouken's blessing.**

 **Saber— she fucked lol.**

 **Berserker— followed Saber for a while before getting distracted for a unknown reason. More on this later.**

 **Caster— God moding and winning the War.**

 **Corpse Parts Tracker:**

 **Spine: with Caster**

 **Head: unknown**

 **Everything else: with Valentine**


	12. (Un)Satisfied

**AN: the logical conclusion to the Caster arc**

 _Absolute corruption_

She landed on her face. A dull thud of concrete against forehead and the crack of cartilage and bone snapping as impact force broke the volmer and the thin, weak bones of the face. A dark, wet spot of blood on the pavement where the blood gushed from her nose. Rin stood up, dazed, mouth open and tongue lolling, dripping clear, hot saliva and even hotter blood.

"Mister… I feel hot…" The girl, dizzy and unconcerned with her injury began to claw at her clothes, strength from some mysterious source fueling her young muscles to tear through the sweat soaked cloth. "I can get a hug? Can you kiss me all better? It kinda hurts 'cause I fell down."

Valentine paused for an aching, eternal moment and turned around to stare at his young charge. He was supposed to bring her back to Kariya unharmed… and he had failed. Her eyes colored ground aquamarine and turquoise were dilated, huge like saucers, full of mature desire and fervent longing for intimacy, love, contact. Why now? The child had been somewhat cognizant, had shown an incredible ability to resist Caster's magic in the forest, but now that they traversed the empty outskirts of the city, populated only sparsely with groups of orgy goers; she had succumbed to the magic that seemed to have filled the space between every molecule, every bond between molecules, the magic spaces between conscious and subconscious, reality and fantasy, love and hate…

"Mister? Please?" Rin fluttered her eyes, it would have been sexy had she been older, but it seemed disturbing on a fundamental level to see such a sultry, smouldering expression on the face of a little girl. "Just a little kiss?" Lips puckered and wet with spit and steps ever so slow, Rin strode forward, hips swinging and arms outstretched for an embrace. "Mister, I feel so strange. I want a hug." She was only seven or eight and seemed willing as a thirty year old whore.

There wasn't any time to spare taking care of a child. He had to reach the Spine before anyone else found it… he was so, _so_ close now. Just one more and he'd have the world again, he'd be the first to take the napkin in this era…

' _I have no time. Whatever arrangement I made with Kariya can be put on hold. The Corpse before all.'_ Valentine told himself, silently pushing away the lascivious girl with his Stand, holding her at bay. ' _Injustice will be done to this girl if I leave her here… terrible things will happen to her…'_ But he found that he didn't care all that much. Whatever pain and debauchery that Tokiomi's child would suffer was irrelevant. The Corpse would better the lives of hundreds of millions. ' _I must leave her.'_

It was the right thing to do. He felt no guilt.

"Mister, _please!"_ Whether it was a cry for salvation or a cry of mercy or a cry for love, Valentine did not know. He did not care.

"Girl," he said, knowing full well that his words fell on a mind that could no longer think or anything other than sex and lust. "You have my condolences. It is highly likely that you die tonight." It was the Arm, Valentine reasoned, that had been keeping the effects of Caster's magic at bay. But now that he held the Arm… there was nothing to protect that little girl's mind from the creeping tendrils of satanic desires that seemed to be everywhere. "It's unfortunate that you will lose your innocence like this…" he could stop it, prevent it by sending her away to a mirror world; it would be a mercy to kill her before she could further debase herself, but Valentine did not care enough about the life of one little girl to act. "But the world is a harsh place, and it is not my place to save you."

"Mister…" Rin was clawing at his pant leg now, drooling.

He sighed and grabbed her by the face with one hand, firmly but gently. The night was so bright and it would very nearly be morning soon, a time where the sun wasn't out of place, but welcomed and expected. If only the going ons of the world would be the same… they would eat her alive. Valentine turned her around, pushing her away by the small of her thin little back.

"Go. Find your mother and sister and father." Valentine watched without expression as Rin nodded dumbly and sauntered off into the city. Undoubtedly she would be snatched up by some group of revelers and she'd be eaten alive. He had damned the girl to a terrible, terrible fate and felt nothing of it. The meth head vampires of this tainted, glowing city, gorged on sex and fluid, they'd take care of her.

And now that the girl was gone, it was time for the Spine...

* * *

She gave the witch's cry, tongue dissolving in her mouth like gas. Sheer fear. Hot terror as thin, wet, sticky fingers wrapped around her ankles. Irisviel panicked and stomped, wincing as she heard bones break and laughter. She looked down at the bush by her side. A woman, naked and cut by the harsh brambleback branches of the shrub, had grabbed her by the ankle, dirty, bony fingers digging in harshly, broken now by Irisviel's hurried stomp.

Two gunshots from her companion and the bush woman died with a gurgle.

"These _degenerates…"_ Spy panted out, tired and haggard and injured, so badly injured. His leg had not healed. There was no mana for him anymore and no sign of his Master either. It was nearing the end for him. "They should die now. What will they do when they awaken? They will find blood and the products of the night on their hands, children in their bellies," Spy spat on the dead woman, angry. "How will they take responsibility for their crimes against goodness and righteousness? I am no saint…"

"We'll get to that when we're done. Once Saber reaches Caster, it'll all be over. I have confidence in her," she brushed off her dress, feeling sticky and dirty and baking in the too hot sun. The dead woman at her feet had shaken her. "She can do it. She can do anything." They _had_ to have faith. They had nothing else left. Just a weak girl and a crippled man trying to fix the world…

"At least we're close," Spy offered. He didn't want to contest Irisviel's optimism with his own dour world view. They were a mile and a half away from the banks of the Fuyuki River, close enough to hear the center of the orgy, the tremendous throng of sex-fiends lusting for one another. And they were speaking to one another, whispering gossip in hushed voices that somehow carried over all the slapping skin and dripping sweat, oozing semen down chests and from holes, dark and cavernous and inviting… they were speaking and there was nothing to do but to listen.

" _Be with us. Love with us. You'll be happy. We're all happy."_

"Spy? What's happening?" The low murmur grew as more people joined the incessant chanting, all of them in total agreement. "Who are they talking to?"

A question that didn't have an answer.

"I don't know, Irisviel." He loaded his firearm; the huge, thumb-like bullets, still warm from being in his pocket for so long hot and heavy in his gloved hand. "But there's danger here. Something's about to happen." He cursed his leg and the fact that they hadn't found Kirei yet. If only he had mana… then he would be able to _heal_. "I need mana, Irisviel. I can't protect you like this. We're going to die here if we don't find safety."

"We've come this far, Spy. I'm going to find my husband." Her gentleness had been consumed by the heat of the world, the frustration and lingering feelings of betrayal and anger and helplessness… she wanted so badly to be useful. "We can't give up."

" _There are others?"_

" _Those who aren't like us?"_

" _They don't love to love love?"_

More whispers— could they be called whispers? It was so loud now, constant, buzzing murmurs everywhere, coming from every mouth in the world, carrying over oceans and winds and barren deserts.

" _They need to go."_

A mounting feeling of dread that both Irisviel and Spy felt in some secret organ buried deep within. A surge of mana, of magic and power that could not be ignored. Something was coming. Another Servant rushing towards them, stabbing through the chaff and buildings— something was coming with murder on their mind. Was it Berserker? Saber? Lancer? Rider was already out of commission and who knew where Archer was… but the other three; they were still out there, ready to fight and kill. Had Saber been corrupted by Caster's magic? Had Lancer? Murder was coming.

"Irisviel. You should go." Spy's words came out calm and just a bit tired as he fished out a golden pocketwatch from his suit pocket.

"What?"

"Find your husband. End this. Reach into my left inner pocket and light me a cigarette." Spy shifted so that Irisviel had an easier vantage point and the confused woman did as she was bid.

"Spy… what's going to happen?" But she already knew. "You're not seriously thinking about staying here, are you? Look around! There's so many of them!" And there were dozens of men and women embedded in, entangled around each other, all of them screaming and moaning and still whispering between their breaths the incessant dogma of the libertine.

" _Love loves to love love."_

"They're not an issue, Irisviel. You know what's coming."

Her hands, lily white and shaking, flicked at the steel lighter flint, sending sparks once, twice, three times before she lit the flame and fed the cigarette head to it. Smoke, dirty, nasty cigarette smoke of tar and cancer went spiraling into the too-hot world. Carefully, trembling, she placed it in Caster's mouth, so close to him, so worried about the future and the impending doom that threatened to take them all and smother them. Something terrible was about to happen.

"You need to go." His guns were loaded and his knives were sharp. Even sans leg he was dangerous. Dead Ringer in hand and pistol in pocket, knife ready to be sheathed in someone's back… he could win. "The Grail means nothing to me if Caster isn't stopped."

"But this isn't fair! You can't even stand without using a crutch!"

"I'm going to win, Irisviel. I'm going to win and after this is all said and done, after Caster is dead— I'm coming for you." It was a joke at this point, something to assuage the homunculus' fear and guilt. "I tried to kill you once before, didn't I? Shot three times in the chest and you survived. I'll make sure you die next time." He could have run. He could have taken the golden pocket watch in his suit coat and turned into a ghost, waiting out the endless false day. Instead he stood and cried silent tears because _victory could have been his_. The Grail could have been his, his life could have been his own again. Everything could have been but here he was, throwing it all away; for what? For the world? A world full of people he had never cared for, full of men and women he would have, in the past, killed for the right price. And he was now defending it, giving up the chance of _two_ lifetimes just so that the men and women and children didn't have to live as slaves. If he lost here… he'd always be a non-person.

"Spy…" that angry magic would be here soon. The Servant Lancer. Irisviel could feel it, she was the Vessel of the Grail, after all. "What did you want from the Grail? We're not friends, we're only working together 'cause of this magic, but I want to know. What is your wish?"

"To be my own person," Spy finished his cigarette and began chewing on the filter, thin yellow nicotine juice mixing with his saliva and phlegm and being absorbed through the membranes of his gums. "I want to be accountable for my own actions, not for those of some carbon copy of me. I want to be an individual instead of being one half of a pair. I want to be human again. I was going to wish that I had never been cloned…"

"I assume that you're the original then?" Irisviel asked, stuttering, trying her best to calm herself by smoothing Spy's wrinkled suit to the best of her ability. "I won't pretend to know why you were cloned, but you're the original, right?"

"I don't know."

And this was his personal tragedy; not knowing whether or not he was the copy or if his counterpart, the BLU Spy, was the copy. Would his wish destroy himself and free his enemy? It might be suicide, but that was an unavoidable risk.

"My counterpart is dead by now. But my life— Irisviel, you _must_ understand how terrible it is to have a life that is not your own. To know that your existence is irrevocably tied to another being… I don't want it. Saber and Rider and Valentine all speak of grand ambitions; to save a country, to rule the world, to take the highest blessing of God for himself— I don't want any of that. I want to be human again. I want to be able to speak about _myself_ with a clear conscience, no more of that niggling feeling in my mind saying that I'm not my own man."

"No, Spy… you're unique. You're special. I know it sounds cliche, but I _understand_. I'm not a human, you see. I had no feelings, no emotions until my husband taught me… I was made for this Holy Grail War and I'm going to die at the end. You're still the Spy I know, right? The only Spy I've ever met and the only Spy I'll ever meet. That makes you unique, that makes you special." She was crying and her arms found themselves draped around Spy's shoulders. Together they had traveled through enough horrors for a hundred lifetimes. It had bonded them together in a strange, strong way… they were friends.

So close now. Whatever Servant was coming was close.

"If my copy were here instead of me… he would have made the same choices, Irisviel. He would say the same things and you would _never_ be able to tell the difference."

"I think I would; be able to tell the difference that is."

The crowd was parting now, all of them murmuring and still sticky close to one another, frantically pumping even as the groping, panting pairs stepped off the slick street to make way for the monster than was coming. Spy saw in the distance two people, a man and woman, their bodies shaded black by the harsh sun behind— Lancer and his Master, both of them naked, both of them very much under Caster's spell…

"You need to leave, Irisviel."

"What's your name, Spy? Your real name? Tell me so that I know who you are."

"Goodbye." And with his one leg, knife clenched now in his mouth, crutch under one arm and gun in the other, Spy stepped forward to meet his opponent, nameless, anonymous, and ready to die.

* * *

"I'm assuming that you're here to kill me, just like the others."

Berserker nodded his head, mute and covered in rust and blood.

"You appreciated the gift then? I had to slow you down, you know. Ten thousand men and women… a literal army, I know they're weak, but to kill every last one in half an hour… None of the other Servants would be able, or perhaps it's more accurate to say they wouldn't so cruel." Caster shrugged and pointed to a group of men, all of them standing shoulder to shoulder with one another, circled around something or someone.

"I know you can't talk, so I suspect that this conversation will be short," Caster continued, keeping a wary eye on Berserker and the massive, gore stained knife in his webbed, brutal hands. "You're here to kill me on your Master's orders. My perfume doesn't affect you. There is nothing I could do to stop you from killing me. You know this."

Once again, Berserker responded by nodding his head, crimson blood powder being shed like dandruff with every movement. He hefted his sword to his shoulder, readying himself to strike.

"I'm quite happy with what I've done, you know. I've brought peace to this world, you understand? All of the others, Saber, Rider, Archer, Lancer— none of them so much as came near to accomplishing what I've done here. Peace. Love, love for all, love for those who've never been loved and who have never loved before. This is truly a work of God," Caster strutted with his arms spread, proud of his work, the world of sex and free love that he built solely with the power of scent. "And you can join, Berserker. There was a time in your life where you were a man, with the desires and dreams of a man. I'll give you this as a gift…"

Clapping his hands, the circle of men standing just a dozen meters away parted with incredible efficiency. Each one of the men, old and fat, young and strong, wore satisfied smirks on their faces, happy and content from being serviced. Their organs, some still hard, others flaccid, dripped with thick fluids, their testicles still clenching and unloading their payloads in aching rhythm. In the center of the now open circle was a girl, blonde and sticky, licking her fingers clean of the bitter-salty semen that coated them like a thick sheen of glue.

"Come here, Saber." Caster ordered and the Servant, her mind broken and enslaved, stood to her feet, trembling and tottering like a child. There was a distinct bulge to her stomach for she had gorged herself on the juices of men. "Look at her, Berserker. Look at how her hair is caked and how her eyes can barely open, so crusted they are with fluid. See the filth dripping down her leg? See the way her legs buckle as she tries to walk? She's yours provided you _don't_ kill me."

It seemed for a moment that Berserker would swing anyways, cut Caster down and end the nightmare once and for all, but things were not meant to be. The knife clattered to the ground, the ringing of steel filling the night. With surprising gentleness Berserker shrugged off his skirt of layered human skin from around his waist.

He was a monster and excited to be alive.

"Glad you see it my way…" Caster stepped away and took a deep breath of air, utterly content, utterly justified in every action, holy action, because _he_ was God and he was good.

* * *

Tears in her eyes and heart heavy, Irisviel ran for her husband, searching, seeking, hoping against all logic that she'd find him well and alone. It felt like betrayal, all those times he had told her that _she_ was the only woman in her life, all those nights they had spent laughing, smiling, making love— being together had been enough to send her heart into strange convulsions induced by love, sweet love… Was that all to end tonight? Love didn't seem to be so pure anymore, not after what she had seen on these dirty streets. And now, Kiritsugu was with another. There was no time for anger, but there _was_ time enough for feeling weak…

She heard gunshots in the distance behind her, Assassin and Lancer finally coming to blows. At least one of them would die tonight…

Saber had failed. It was all up to her now and she felt the pressure, hot and heavy like the slutty heaving breaths of the women lining the streets, burning with ecstasy and fervent desire, always looking for _more_. Harder, larger, faster, thicker, _more, more, more_.

"Kiritsugu!"

What she was feeling, that terrible burn of betrayal itching through her stomach and arms and eyes and head and everywhere in between, it was more like horror. Horror because she knew what was happening, what was to come, but could do nothing at all to stop it. Horror because she was scared and useless. Her husband…

"Where are you?" That last word was belted out, stuttered over as if she had some speech impediment. "Kiritsugu, I need your help. I can't do this alone, I can't, I can't, I _can't!_ "

And still she continued to run, run for the river, the boiling river that sat slowing, suspended a hundred feet above, a watery castle, monument to Caster's power, his evil, his Godhood.

"You need not be alone." It wasn't Kiritsugu, but it was still someone familiar.

"Valentine!" Irisviel turned to see the tall Servant standing, leaning against a traffic sign. "You're here!" Quickly she ran to meet the man. It was so good to see an ally, especially one that wasn't affected by Caster.

The President wasn't smiling. "Where is Saber?"

Irisviel faltered for a moment. "I don't know. I think she's under Caster's control, but I'm not sure." She hadn't seen any sign of her friend in a while.

"As I feared. Irisviel," Valentine took a lunging step towards her, over a large puddle of blood that seemed to be growing out of the empty landscape behind him. "There is something that I must have. How much do you know of the _Corpse?_ "

"Corpse? Like a dead person?" She hadn't heard the phrase used as Valentine was using it. "I think Saber mentioned something about you searching for it… I don't know exactly what it is."

"Why are you out here? Are you looking for Saber?"

She nodded her head yes. "And my husband. I need to find them. If I get Avalon to my husband, he'll be able to join us in stopping Caster. Saber I hope will snap out of it if we talk to her, but a _Corpse?_ What do you mean?"

"It doesn't concern you." Valentine said harshly, more harshly that needed to be said. There was clearly something bothering him. "I can tell you already that if Saber has truly fallen to Caster's magic, there will be no saving her other than killing Caster himself. You have a method then to clear your husband from this curse?"

"Yes. I have Avalon with me. It should provide enough healing and resistance to magic so that a human being can overcome whatever magical influence Caster is using to control them— but, how do you know that Saber can't be helped? Shouldn't we at least try?" Irisviel looked around at the orgy and cringed. "I would hate to think that she's part of this. It's everything that she isn't."

Valentine sighed and brushed his end curled hair to the side. Somehow he looked perfectly normal in the burning heat. "I've determined that those with willpower, with motivations, strong enough to resist, will remain clear from Caster's influence— to a point. Saber, for all her bluster and honour, she considers herself a failure. Her wish for the Grail is to erase herself. She will be of no help when we go to kill Caster. Leave her out of this."

She hesitated, but saw the wisdom in Valentine's words. "Okay then… we'll help Saber afterwards. We'll find Kiritsugu first."

The man in the white coat pointed toward the river which Irisviel had been originally running towards. "He's nearby. Irisviel," Valentine spoke deliberately and clearly. "Remember that his adultery was not of his own doing. Whatever anger you may feel towards him and the woman he is with, you must save that for later. Caster must die."

"I understand." Irisviel nodded and felt Valentine's hand on her shoulder.

" _ **Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap!"**_

And then there were many. Valentines, all of them identical with their too perfect hair and ostentatious pink coats, they crept from— Irisviel couldn't tell. Everywhere really. They came from under cars and out of sewers, from the spaces behind telephone poles and from directly underneath the twitching, screaming masses; hundreds of them armed with handguns executing the unconcerned deviants. He was ending the orgy.

"Where did they— Don't kill them!"

"Not your concern." Valentin was indistinguishable from the rest except by the silver ghost resting at his side. "Find your husband, defeat Caster, but remember—" Valentine wore a deathly stern glare on his face. "There is something that I must have from Caster. A certain artifact, this I must have. Promise me, Irisviel, you will not interfere with Caster and myself."

She understood only vaguely. "Valentine! The people, they haven't done anything wrong! They're being controlled by Caster!"

"They will pounce as soon as Caster gives the order. Their innocence does not absolve them from sin. Their innocence does not mean they are not dangerous. Be glad, Irisviel," Valentine spoke while touching things at random, somehow calling out more copies of himself. "I do this for our safety and so that we may find Saber and your husband more quickly. And…" Valentine stretched his fingers, latticing them and cracking them all at once. "If we find Berserker or Caster, we have an army to deal with them."

"It's murder, Valentine. They aren't part of this war, the Magus Association will come to cancel the War if too many people notice it—"

He threw his head back and laughed a cruel laugh. "Notice it? Have you not realized yet, Irisviel? Caster's influence extends past the boundaries of Fuyuki City. No bounded field or magical barrier can stop his magic. The entire world is under his control. "

The homunculus gulped deeply. Could it be true? What Valentine was saying seemed preposterous. Magecraft had limits. Even during the Age of Gods magic would have been hardpressed to engulf the entire world. To think that Caster was capable of such a momentous feat…

"You're lying."

The President scoffed and brushed his hair past his ears, seemingly in deep thought. "It's the truth. And these men and women will never be freed unless Caster dies. Irisviel," in the sunlight, Valentine looked so noble, so righteous in his speech and cause. "Remember that I am a ruler in my own right. I have a country that I must look after just as Saber has her precious England. Caster must be stopped." Raising a hand, Valentine pointed towards the river. "Your husband is there. Go to him, Irisviel. Go to him and save him. I will find Saber and then I will kill Caster. There is nothing that you can do, now."

* * *

"Stop there and I'll let you live. The both of you." Assassin stood uneasily, favoring his good leg and holding himself up with a crutch. "Listen to reason if you can."

Lancer stood in the distance, his Master by his side, both of them nude and stinking, sweaty, sticky with love juice and passion. Panting and slobbering, undignified, Lancer strode forward, proud and muscular, strong arms clutching at his twin spears, the red and gold.

"Can you even speak? Or has Caster broken you of that habit?" Assassin squinted hard, tired arms shaking as he held his revolver, the _Enforcer_ , pointed towards the slowly advancing pair. Blood and sweat had soaked through his mask and dripped into his eyes, causing him to blink every so often. He wasn't sure if he could make the shot at this distance, but the closer that Lancer got, the more likely it was that Assassin would lose. If only he could kill the woman, that red haired one, then his victory would be guaranteed. Without a Master, without mana, Lancer would inevitably die.

… but then again, Assassin had only one leg, no mana to speak of, and only a handful of bullets left. His body fatigued and crippled, how would he evade? It was looking grim already. He had the Dead Ringer with him, but there was no telling how Lancer's magic would interact with his invisibility and false death. There was no certainty in victory, not like how Assassin usually liked to operate. It was life and death, and unlike before in his freelance work and his work as an employee of RED, it wasn't his own victory and own defeat to consider. It wasn't about pride or even survival— winning meant that the world could possibly find a sense of normalcy. Lancer, likely one of the strongest individuals under Caster's control, if Assassin could kill him; it would be all the more easy for Irisviel and her husband to defeat the madman. He'd be saving the world, or at least helping it go back to the way it always was.

"I know your name, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, I know your legend. How you lived and how you died, it's no mystery. But it's courtesy for the damned to introduce themselves to the executioner, isn't it? Introduce yourself and the mana battery you call a woman. Where's your pride? Your _honour?_ " Assassin spat on the dusty asphalt. His previous research had shown Lancer to value honour and tradition, a true knight, a true fool. Assassin would tear him apart if the Servant was expecting a fair fight. Would that dedication to honour and knightly values, chivalry and all the other foolish ideals that men like Lancer carried, would that translate even through Caster's spell?

"My name… how did you know?" Lancer spoke, for the first time that night one of the damned spoke of their own accord, none of the scripted moans of pleasure that Caster had undoubtedly ordered. "I am Diarmuid." But the voice was dumb and slow, Lancer struggled to speak. "I am Diarmuid and I don't know who you are, but I know that you are not like me and that you must die."

Assassin smiled and shot, the modified bullet, made and improved by Engineer all those years ago, careening through hot air, running its deadly course at fifteen thousand feet per second, faster than the explosion of expanding gases, supersonic death screaming faster than sound could ever follow. Scarlet clouds erupted. _Then_ came the roar of the gun. _Then_ came her screams and the thump of her knees hitting the floor.

"Sola-ui!" Lancer shouted, shocked— why hadn't he blocked that? Any Servant could have, one of the knight classes would almost certainly be able to out time a bullet, even one that had been enhanced to maximize damage and speed. For the briefest moment the Irish Servant turned his head towards his injured Master.

A mistake. The bullet had caught her by shoulder, pulverizing bone and vaporizing blood, burning skin and fragile hair— with her head hazy and mind muted by Caster's magic, she couldn't even think of healing herself with a spot of thaumaturgy. Another shot while his head was turned, this one he blocked, sparks flying as his golden lance met the bullet in mid air, casual collision.

"You've lost, Lancer. Worse yet, you've lost to a man missing a leg…"

Lancer looked around, confused, angry, fervent in his desire for murder; but Assassin was not there, that taunting, accented voice came from all around and couldn't be pointed to one spot.

"You two, you're both going to die. You're going to die as a dog, mind raped and body used as Caster's plaything. What a sad, sad life…" Assassin, invisible, glanced at the golden pocket watch in his hand, the blue display reading that he only had a couple minutes left of invisibility. His first shot had been meant to kill the woman, but he had merely crippled her. Now that he had made his attack, Lancer would not be caught off guard again.

But Lancer couldn't see where Assassin was hiding. Perhaps if his mind were whole and untarnished by that evil magic of Caster's he could have pieced together the mystery behind Assassin's invisibility, perhaps even countered it with his own ability to pierce magical barriers and illusions— but his thinking didn't extend that far. It was all about his bleeding lover on the ground.

"You're a coward, whoever you are." Still Lancer's voice was eerily calm, full of masked anger, even as his bare feet grew red from Sola-ui's blood, the Servant stood protectively over Master so that he wouldn't be taken off guard again. "Show yourself so that I may kill you."

Assassin laughed as loud as he could, limping slowly and quietly towards his quarry, gun cocked and ready, four shots left. "That seems to be a _very_ common sentiment among those who are about to die. Everyone wants to see their murderer. And they will. When I'm close enough for you to smell, you'll see me and it'll be all over." He had made his way behind Lancer now, if Assassin got the chance, there'd be a bullet in the head of the red haired woman and a knife in the Lancer's naked back, then it'd all be over and he'd be free to find his own Master or perhaps aid Irisviel in defeating Caster. Just a few more steps now…

"Surprise." Assassin shot four times, emptying his gun, the greedy machine chomping brass fruits and spitting lead. The woman's red hair made an easy target in the gleam of the sun.

Lancer was quick enough to parry two bullets but the remaining two embedded themselves in his body, one in his thigh and the other in his knee cap, blowing cartilage and bone shards all around. He fell on his side.

"Trash, trash, trash." The spent casings slid from their hot cages and new ones, these pregnant and ready to birth pain, were loaded into the gun. "You're the _Lancer_. The famed knight, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, can't you kill me? Even hit me once? I have but one leg and one gun and one fucking chance at killing you. Can't you stand, or have the fumes eaten at your mind?"

"You…" Lancer struggled into a kneeling position with his two spears propping himself up, "were aiming for Sola-ui. Where's your honour? I am your opponent."

"And I am going to kill you. You can have my honour if it soothes you. I have little need for it." Spy limped forward, reloaded, and shot twice, once through each of Lancer's hands, forcing him to drop his weapons. "But I'm going to kill your Master first. You can watch." The rest of the bullets were spent to further cripple Lancer, break his bones into pink and yellow dust and ensure that he wouldn't stand. " _Your Eternal Reward_." With a flourish, Spy called his Noble Phantasm into his hand and limped forward on his crutch.

"Sola-ui!" Lancer crawled forward with the desperation of a man about to lose love. "Run! Do something!" His hands twitched as nerves fired and fired a litany of injuries, pain, damage. He couldn't pick up his spear to throw, to stab, he couldn't do anything from his spot on the floor.

It was slow progress walking without a leg, but Assassin managed as best as he could. His quarry, the woman, was scrambling away. "Why are you even here, Lancer? What wish will the Grail be granting _you,_ should you win?"

Hot tears of inability filled Lancer's eyes. Sola-ui, his Master, his Lover, how he wanted to die for her, but even that privilege was barred from him. "The victory was all that mattered. But now, I just want her to live— _please_ , Assassin! She's done nothing but fall in love with the wrong man, with me; don't you know of my curse? I am Diarmuid of the Love Spot, my magic, my legend has enthralled her, she's blameless…"

"She loves you and she will die because of that love. Lancer," Spy's calm expression turned dark and angry. "I hate those who think love is a good enough reason to live. It isn't."

 _Then what is?_

Spy, still limping, brought out his pocket watch, his other Noble Phantasm, the Dead Ringer, and checked the time. It was eight at night and the sun was still high as anything. Forward, forever forward, Spy stalked toward the crawling woman, ignoring the shouts and chants of the rest of the crowd, the pleas from Lancer. God, his leg, Spy looked down to see the bloody stump and winced. It'd be over soon.

"Come here," Spy bent and grabbed Sola-ui by the hair and with his knife struck her cleanly between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae, severing her spinal chord instantly, killing her without any aplomb or ceremony. Efficient and economical, Sola-ui died. "There," his gloves were soaked in warmth from the wound in her back and Spy stood straight again, readjusting his crutch. "How do I look?"

He had stolen Sola-ui's face, voice, and body with _Your Eternal Reward_.

" _You dare?"_

"Threats from a naked man mean nothing at all, Lancer." Assassin spoke just as Sola-ui spoke but Lancer was not fooled. Reluctant Lancer may have been before, Caster's perfume had broken his mind and Lancer had fallen in love, real love with his Master. He could tell that the voice behind the voice of his beloved was not true, was not real.

It was desecration of death.

"A dead woman, _my_ dead woman, you take her form and voice and you expect me to rest?"

"You should have stood when she was still alive." Spy put his hand to his mouth as if he was smoking. His knife was in his hand, but everything else was not his own. "You could have saved her."

"Love, loss of love," Diarmuid laughed sadly, "it's a good enough reason to live. You're wrong, Assassin. Love is reason to die, reason to live, and reason enough to kill. Draw— I will kill you like a man."

"That's what I am." It was disturbing, heart wrenching to watch Assassin steal Sola-ui's form, to watch the corpse disappear into nothingness as Your Eternal Reward worked it's magic, hiding it's victim forever, and Lancer had no choice but to watch. "I am a man, Diarmuid. Unlike you and the rest of the Servants, monsters and gods and heroes of the highest degree—" Spy spat blood. "I have nothing but my knife and my gun and the tools of my trade, the same tools that I used during my life. You, knight, you are at the advantage here. I have no leg, have had no mana from my Master for the past day or so. There is nothing but my cunning and dream that throws me towards victory. Kill me then. You've already lost. A Masterless Servant can't live long."

Lancer trembled with anger and made an attempt to stand, but his legs and arms were too broken and they buckled and broke further under the strain. He couldn't even dodge the bullets rushing towards him. His death was one unbecoming of a knight…

* * *

Once again, Valentine was right.

That wasn't a good thing.

Disgusting and perverse and bothersome the orgy may have been— at least they hadn't been violent. Now, Irisviel watched as the tangles of men and women and children separated, all of them with different hungers in their eyes now, no more for intimacy. They wanted blood now and they came running, ignoring the heavy bullets crashing through their bodies as Valentines clones tried their best to stave off the hordes of frenzied orgy goers.

Irisviel flinched when a girl burst apart at the chest. A tear came to her eye when the girl kept trying to crawl forward, trailing blood, still desperate to kill.

Why?

Because Caster had ordered it. Perhaps the man had finally realized Valentines forces cutting through his worshippers. Two armies were meeting now. One side uniformed in long, pink coats, absurd considering the situation, and the other side comprised of mobs of naked, slobbering ghouls, Irisviel couldn't consider them fully human now.

' _I've got to find him, I've got to find him. We'll be safe together. Once I give him Avalon—'_

Irisviel turned, tripped, stood, and _ran_. Two Servants, Lancer and Assassin, had just died. The shock was great, the Grail responding as the Throne of Heroes reclaimed their spirits. Assassin had become a sort of friend, but there was no time to mourn. Kiritsugu was right there, even from a distance she could tell that the man in the distance was her husband, was it some sort of magical attraction, or maybe it was just the characteristic shape of his hair… maybe it was even the secret connection of true love that called out to her?

She didn't know. How could she? All around her was Hell on earth. The riverbed, hidden away for thousands of years, suddenly bared to the baking sun, the river itself suspended in the sky, a titanic tower of nebulous dark green marble, groups of men and women engaged in such terrible, hedonistic acts of the most disgusting sort… she was running, heart racing, mind hurting. Five Servants left…

Valentine's agents had been on the move for quite sometime now, Irisviel heard cry of murder as the guns rang out in vicious volleys, killing scores of people callously, without any regard for innocence or blame. They didn't deserve to die, Irisviel knew this, but… she couldn't exactly convince Valentine otherwise, the Servant of the Bow, his ideas on justice were extreme. It was the ultimate pragmatism. Remove any and all threat, even if they hadn't done anything wrong. It made sense, but _it wasn't correct_. But Irisviel had to banish such thoughts from her head.

She reached her husband after a quarter hour of searching, dodging through the clones of Valentine and orgy goers, the citizens of Fuyuki City. Kiritsugu was naked and it appeared that he had collapsed from exhaustion at some point during the false day, he wasn't part of the battle. Thankfully his trenchcoat was nearby, clinking with spare bullets and heavy with the weight of his hand gun, Irisviel put it over the man and cradled his face lovingly. Next to him was Maiya and Irisviel knew what had happened… but as much as the adultery hurt, she knew there was no one to blame besides Caster. Kiritsugu would never have slept with another woman otherwise. Her hands clenched hard.

"Kiri, can you hear me?" There was only a moan as a response. "Wake up!" She pulsed healing magic through her hands into her husband's chest and knew it was useless. Whatever magic Caster had woven was powerful, far too powerful to be spelled away, even if Irisviel was a powerful magus. It would take a miracle to wake him… and Irisviel only had one.

* * *

"I could have sworn that Kariya ordered you to kill Caster." A trashcan fell on its side as Valentine stepped from under it. There were dozens of Valentines, but it was obvious that the one in the center of the mob was the original, or closest to original. "And yet here you are, raping Saber. Have you no shame? No respect or common decency?" Valentine didn't care so much about the rape, but it was something to say regardless. "And of course, you can't even speak for yourself. I didn't know the Grail could summon subhumans."

And of course, Berserker did not even look up from his task at hand. His body, lean and wire taut, slicked with sweat and pale grey even in the brightness. He grunted and kept thrusting.

"Look at me when I speak to you, dog." Valentine and his posse pulled revolvers from their coat pockets, long barreled models that looked more like rifles than pistols. They shot into the air, hundreds of Valentines acting in stunning synchronicity. It was like thunder speaking.

That got Berserker's attention. Pyramid Head didn't cease in his ministrations, but there came an aggressive, angry growl from the monster and the massive helmet turned in Valentine's direction.

"I have an army." And the tide of pink coats and blonde hair coalesced into a tight formation, each and every one of them holding their firearms, ready to shoot and kill. "Berserker. I'd prefer you move so that Saber isn't caught in the crossfire." Valentine held his hand in the air, ready to drop at a moments notice and signal his army to fire. "Die with dignity, Pyramid Head." Thousands of stinging, white hot arrows of lead filled the air, each Valentine pulling the deadly trigger until the gun reported empty.

So Berserker acted, pulling his knife from the earth and leaving his prize behind, swinging at Valentine, sending sparks flying every time bullet met knife, spraying blood with every shot he failed to block or dodge. Hundreds of bullets, hundreds of holes in Berserker's body, bloody and dark and still the Servant didn't care, running forward unimpeded by the rain of lead, solely intent on killing his enemy. The monster roared his anger and met Valentine's army, tearing them apart with hard steel and clutching hands, webbed fingers gradually becoming coated in gore.

Behind the raging Servant, Saber lay on the ground, dazed, naked, totally unaware and confused as to what was happening. Errant bullets shot by Valentine in his attack on Berserker careened towards her, cutting grooves in her oblivious skin, leaving huge impact craters in the ground around her, craters in her flesh. For a moment it seemed the pain would break her from the insidious trace, but Saber sat doing nothing but bleeding and looking around at the world. Something more would need be done to wake her…

A dozen of his clones were mowed down by Berserker's all cutting knife and from the space where the two halves of each torn body met, more Valentines crawled out to wage war against the one man army. So many bullets flew through the air, so many dead bodies on the ground, Berserker never stopped cutting and Valentines never stopped flooding into the world, an endless tide of pink and blonde bent on killing their enemy, each soldier united by collective will.

Valentine knew he would lose. Even though he had an infinite amount of bodies to throw at Berserker, he knew he wouldn't be able to break the monster. Something, something primal and base was fueling Pyramid Head and although Valentine did not know _what_ , he knew it would have to be found eventually if the mad Servant were to be stopped. Still, it wasn't a waste. All these bodies, all these thousands of deaths and gunshots ringing, it was buying time. Brushing past the throngs of his alternate universe clones, Valentine made his way to Saber who still sat dazed and naked in the sunlight.

"Saber," Valentine grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her to a dull stand, mentally ordering his copies to both stall Berserker and destroy Caster's army, the orgy. "Can you stand? Can you walk?" From the blank glaze over her eyes, Valentine knew his words were not being heard and spat out a curse. "God, Arturia. How could this have happened?" He looked her over, frowning at the fluids and bruises and dirt that caked her body. Her shame and humiliation… Valentine felt the slightest bit of pity and took off his jacket, wrapping her in it. _To protect her?_ He mused quietly in the milieu of battle and called forth his Stand and the two disappeared into some strange new world.

* * *

Kiritsugu Emiya opened his eyes and felt the full anger of the sun beating through his retinas, scorching the optic nerve, eating away at his newfound sanity.

"God— what?" The world was first in black and white, then after a moment of pain, in blinding, brilliant color. His wife, the sky, the sun scorched river bed beneath and all around. Where was he? "Irisviel? What?" His wife was kneeling next to him, breathing heavily and clutching at her chest. "What happened?" A hot breeze blew and Kiritsugu realized that he was naked, thankfully, with minimal wear, his trenchcoat lay just a few meters away.

The homunculus was weeping, but Kiritsugu didn't know why. "Thank God… Kiri, it's alright now. I know it was Caster. I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you."

"What are you talking about?" Kiritsugu stood uneasily, swallowing too thick spit and trying to wet his parched throat. "Irisviel, what did I do?" There was nothing he could do but ask. The period of time under Caster's control, he couldn't even begin to remember. "Tell me!" Kiritsugu looked around for hints as to what happened. All he saw was a battle taking place, thousands of naked men and women raving, charging toward an entire battalion of men in pink suits. Those were the Servant Archer, weren't they?

Irisviel swallowed her tears and wiped her eyes and face against the soft, dirty fabric of her coat. "Sometime last night? Two nights ago? I can't tell how much time has passed. The sun's been up forever it seems." Her voice broke abruptly. "I don't want to talk about this, Kiri."

But he had to know. Kiritsugu grabbed his wife by the hand, staring intently. What had he done? What atrocity had he committed? "Irisviel, you have to tell me. I need to know what happened."

"We just need to get to safety, Kiri. Everything, you'll find out everything eventually so let's just go. There's…" Irisviel stood to her feet and sighed, looking at the fighting all around, at the gunshots and tearing of bodies as the masses overwhelmed some of Valentine's forces. "There's nothing we can do here."

He didn't know what to say.

* * *

"What happened to me, Valentine?" Saber sat next to the president, legs pulled tight against her chest. She was in her armor, summoned as soon as she found herself cognizant enough to do so. There was a beating, pulsing pain in her head, the remnants of Caster's magic and she was so, so tired. "What happened to everyone?" She remembered the scorch of the sun and the depravity of that dry bone gulch that Caster had cleared out, but not much else.

Night time meant that Fuyuki City was gleaming. The lights were on and the cars and people were out, shopping, eating, living their lives as if nothing happened, as if Caster had never existed.

"It's better not to know certain things, Saber." Valentine stood at the edge of the roof, staring towards the ocean. "All we can do is plan and pray that Caster is defeated. He is a dangerous man."

"But what did he do? I know that he and I met. I unable to defeat him? And what of the others? Lancer and Assassin and Berserker, what of them?"

"I assume that Lancer and Assassin are dead. From what Einzbern mentioned, Spy choose to stay behind and fight Diarmuid. The two are evenly matched, in my opinion."

"And Rider… he was with _me_. He used his Noble Phantasm to save us, I believe. We were separated soon afterwards. He didn't have the mana to stay corporeal. I don't know how long ago that was. Valentine," Saber looked towards the President, intent on getting an answer. "Tell me what happened. How did Caster subdue me so easily? And why is the city so… _normal?_ "

Valentine let out a long sigh, one that suggested frustration and disinterest and futility. "You must first understand where you are, Saber. Fuyuki City, but not the Fuyuki City that you know. The Holy Grail War, but not one that you know. Look towards the ocean, Saber." Valentine pointed his finger at a section of beach that with the sharp vision afforded to Servants they could see clearly. There was a man and woman fighting, battling with murderous intent with spear and sword. "This is my doing. This is my Stand… or Noble Phantasm, I suppose. I brought you here, to another world, another reality, to break Caster's influence over you."

"Impossible," Saber stated sharply. "There's no magic, no Noble Phantasm that could so casually break the barriers between existences, between _dimensions_ as you seem to be implying. The only person capable of such feats is Zelretch, and you are not he."

Shrugging, Valentine turned away from the edge of the rooftop, away from the beach and the battle going on. "It is your choice whether or not you believe me. If you truly wish to know what happened during that time you were incapacitated, you must confront Berserker. The Grail War will end soon, Arturia. And I am not in contention for victory. All I want is—"

"I know," Arturia interrupted. "You want to complete your collection of the Corpse. You've told me before… but how will be get back?"

" _ **Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."**_ Valentine's ghost, his Noble Phantasm, materialized as he uttered his trademark phrase. "It's a funny thing, Saber. I don't exist in _this_ world. In this iteration of the Grail War, a man by the name of Gilgamesh was summoned in my place. It makes one think of what _could have been_ and what _can_ be…" Valentine took a cloth from his pocket, a napkin with the date of September 20, 1847 embroidered on it, and held it over Arturia's head. "When you go back, you will regroup with your Master, and in light of your failure, I will kill Caster."

"You can't do it yourself." Saber shook her head, taking offense to the slight against her strength. "I may not understand or believe what you claim to do, Valentine, but how can you possibly hope to match Caster? He has enthralled the whole world to his command. Even with my Magical Resistance, he was able to control me. You may be the Servant of the Archer class, but you've shown nothing, you've been in no extended conflict in this War. Even Caster, he's shown his strength through his magic. What have you done?"

And strangely, Valentine let out a laugh; a sad, disappointed one with just enough cruelty to be suggestive of pity. "You, the other Servants, all of you are surprisingly… _one dimensional._ Combat means nothing. Victory means everything…" And with that, the napkin dropped, and Arthuria vanished back into the world she belonged in.

* * *

"You have something of mine."

This was the third time in the past half hour that Caster had been told this, each time by a different version of the same person. It was getting tiring.

With a sweep of his arm he ordered the dozen or so men and women he had kept near himself to dispose of the threat. They made for a paltry guard force, but the clones of Archer seemed no stronger than normal men. There was only the fact that they could resist his perfume and that they were armed.

But… Grenouille could not see through the tangle of bodies, but there were strange flashes of silver and pink, something was different.

"You're not worthy, Caster." With the last attacker dead, Valentine dismissed his Noble Phantasm and stepped over the bodies. The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds.

Something smelled off about this one, Grenouille realized. There was… authenticity? Power? Anger? He couldn't quite pin it down, but something about _this_ version of Archer was outlandishly threatening.

"Unworthy of what? Have I not shown my worthiness by defeating the other Servants? All those kings and rulers meant nothing to me. They all fell before _my_ power."

"And yet I still walk, unaffected by your magic. And my armies still tear yours to pieces. How many men and women have you left to throw away?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Is it your Noble Phantasm to create so many copies of yourself? And how are you able to resist my _Bottled Love?_ Even Saber could not do so."

Valentine smirked. "The former is a product of my Noble Phantasm. The latter is due to something more… sacred."

They stood in stony silence for a moment.

"I have nothing for you." Caster raised his hand and pointed directly at Valentine. "I will admit that you are a threat to me, more than the other Servants. You have a sort of pragmatism that makes you dangerous. But I know that I cannot bargain with you as I did Berserker, nor can I control you the way I did Saber… you will not spare me."

"Of course not." Valentine pulled his gun from his pocket and stepped forward, aiming squarely at Caster's forehead. "You've made mistakes, Caster, and you must die for them."

"Grenouille," Caster pointed at himself. "My name is Jean-Baptiste Grenouille." Quickly, Grenouille called for his love slaves to gather around him, hopefully they'd manage to stall Archer long enough so that he'd be able to get away—

"Grenouille, then." Valentine declared. "I won't lecture you of morals or goodness or sanctity. I won't speak of you the damage you might have caused the world. But you will die. Your servants are busy. They will not come."

 _The Spine?_ Grenouille remembered that night in the Fuyuki City dump, surrounded by filth and smells beyond human understanding and rats and bird droppings. He had found that night a section of bone…

Grenouille did not beg for his life. "I have done nothing wrong. I killed those girls because I needed them."

"How can you say that?" Valentine shot, the bullet shattering Grenouille's elbow joint and breaking his arm into two pieces, forearm dangling limply, connected with one thick strip of bleeding meat. "You've done nothing wrong? You think murder is the greatest of your sins?"

Grenouille fell to his knees, too shocked to cry or scream or anything. "Nothing." He remembered his time in the prison, the endless hours of questioning while he had been subjected to the water torture, the beatings, the cruel irons, the threat of the execution, of the twelve blows that would break his joints and leave him on the wooden cross, dying for days… "I've done nothing wrong."

"Then why is that the crowds are not gathering to you? Why don't they express their love for you the way they do for each other? Is it the subconscious fear that all prisoners hold for their wardens? Or maybe they don't love you after all?"

"They love me." Grenouille recalled the horrible loneliness he had felt in his previous incarnation, how he had commanded the attention of the entire town of Grasse, had them enthralled and enraptured by the power of his perfume. His execution canceled, his crimes against society not just forgotten, but forgiven— that should have been the pinnacle of it all, the highest point of his life, the confirmation that he existed… but it had been hollow then and it was the same now. "They love me. They have to love me because I did all this for them. I created a world where everyone can open up to each other in love and camaraderie and—" His words came out in delirium clouds.

"You've forced them, Caster. You've forced everyone to come together and that sort of love is disingenuous at best, sinister at worst." Valentine's ghost rushed forward and grabbed Grenouille by the head and a terrible pulling sensation came over the smaller man. "I don't pretend to care about right or wrong. The fact is that you've caused a disturbance in this world, one that is affecting my own beloved country… isn't that right? Your influence spreads all across this world?"

"You're correct." There was a huge drain of power that Grenouille felt, it was as if the luster had gone from the world. What was happening? The President was so close now and Caster felt a physical reaction to the man's presence as if all the warmth leaving the world. "But the citizens of your country, they're happier like this. I promise you. Why not let them stay and love?"

"That is not your place to decide." Valentine forced Caster to a stand and put the barrel of his gun in the smaller man's mouth and pulled the trigger, sending blood and bone shards flying in a thousand directions, all over his own pink coat and over the dry silt ground. "The happiness of America is _my_ responsibility. You overstep your bounds."

Caster was still alive, but he couldn't speak. His mouth, tongue, cheeks had been torn to shreds by the expanding gases and force of the bullet. There was a hole in the back of his neck where the delicate bone of his spine peeked through gore and leaked blood and spinal fluid. Something terribly wrong was happening, all that power and influence that Grenouille had gathered, the power from his perfume, it was all gone… where? _Where? Where?_ For the first time in his life, Caster could smell nothing but blood; even among the fish markets and butcheries and tanneries of France the smell hadn't been so strong…

"I would ask you where you found this, Caster, but the time for conversation has passed." Valentine held in his hand a familiar yet ancient column of bone. Grenouille had seen this weeks ago, back in the Fuyuki City Dump where he had been drawn by the most magical, powerful smell he had ever experienced. "I doubt you'd understand, but this is the source of your power, Caster. How else could a nameless urchin such as you compete against legends such as Saber and Rider and myself? Impossible without a blessing from God."

Grenouille gurgled and croaked a bubble of blood from his cavernous mouth. He meant to disagree, to say that he was worth something, that he, despite all his flaws, mattered, that he existed and had made an impact on this earth.

"And what a mess now," miraculously, the Spine _sank into_ Valentine's arm. "I wonder what will happen once you're dead? Will these people forget the events of this night? The world may be forever changed… an event such as this cannot be hidden. It cannot be forgotten." Valentine spat at the ground and shot again, this time right at Caster's forehead, killing the Servant instantly. Without the Spine, Caster had no real power, no way of fighting back or dodging. Unlike the other Servants who were known all around the world for their legendary deeds and heroics, Caster was nameless and unknown. Such is life for a man dealing with something as ephemeral as scent.

The sun sank and with the coming of night, the river too surged into its bed. The time for play and love and revelry was over and there was still a war to be fought.

* * *

 _The morning after…_

"Spy."

"Valentine."

The two men shook hands and stared at one another. It was the morning after Caster's death and the world was still reeling.

"What do you think? What's going to happen now?" Assassin asked. He was standing on his own two legs again. With his Master no longer under Caster's control, Spy was once again able to heal his wounds with Kirei's mana. "And what will you do?" All around there was a palpable atmosphere of regret and shame, the world had begun to wake up from their delirium and it seemed that all anyone wanted to do was forget and put the events of the endless day in the past.

"There's a War to fight, Spy. We will fight until there is nothing left to fight for, or until there is no one left to fight, whichever comes first." Valentine stated absentmindedly and played with his hair. There was only one Corpse Part left now, the Head. "My goals have very nearly been accomplished. I will not stand in anyone's way should they choose to pursue the Grail."

"The Mediator, Risei Kotomine, my Master's father, is dead." Spy stated bluntly. "He was old and he died last night in the mess."

"And?" Valentine shrugged. "It's likely that hundreds of millions died last night. The old and young, the hungry and sick… think of hospitals and geriatric homes and starving African countries. What do you think happened to them?"

"Do you think the Magus Association will tolerate this? _Hundreds of millions dead._ How can this be forgotten or covered up?"

"Not my concern."

Assassin was silent for a short while. "Of course it's your concern," he started softly. "You're a human being aren't you? People died, Valentine. People died because of a War that, like it or not, you were a part of. There are consequences to our actions and inactions and—"

"They're going to forget." Valentine interrupted and ran a hand through his hair, calm and disinterested look turning stony. "Tragedy is always forgotten. The collective human mind can't focus on a single topic for any span of time more than a month or so. And in cases like these, where _every one_ was involved as both victim and perpetrator, where the causes will never be revealed— society will have no choice but to move past this. They will forget and that night will never again be discussed, do you understand?"

"What are you talking about?"

Valentine shook his head and sighed, sounding old and tired. "This has happened before, Assassin. Caster was summoned for because of his accomplishment. An unknown perfumer from 18th century France? What else could he have done in his life for the Throne of Heroes to give him a position? Remember the killings. They were methodical and professional as any assassination." Valentine paused and looked Assassin in the eye. "He's done it before and if he's summoned, he'll do it again. The city of Grasse… that's where Caster claimed to have worked his magic before. Why do you think a spontaneous, mass orgy was never recorded or spoken of? You're French, aren't you? Have you ever heard any folktales or legends about some mythical mass orgy?"

Assassin had no answer.

"It's because the very thought of an entire community losing their morals and engaging in depravity is unthinkable. It is unutterably terrible and no one, _no one_ will want to think about it or believe it happened. Believe me. This is one myth that they will forget. Caster… he was powerful, but his ability was focused in one field that is prone to ephemerality. Perfumes and smells and scents are blown by the wind and are forgotten by the second."

"So just like that it's over? You think the men and women of the world will wake up, surrounded by naked bodies, discover that millions died in the course of a night— and you think they'll forget?"

Archer's head of gold curls nodded up and down as he looked upon the city from the skyscraper top he stood on. It was dark but still he could make out the pale, moonlit, bodies that covered the street like some great, breathing blanket. "I know they will." The night would pass and the time would come where the sleeping citizens of the world would awake. They'd clean the mess and bodies and look shamefully at each other, never speaking a word about what happened, what had passed between them, between man and woman and child and animal and corpse. "There's someone I want you to meet, Assassin. We have some time before the world awakens, don't we?"

Assassin nodded in confusion as Valentine unfolded an American flag. "Alright then. Who is it?"

"It's more like a group of people. People you know well." Valentine stepped forward and brandished the flag.

"Don't come closer." Assassin drew his gun and pointed it straight at Valentine's head. "We might not be enemies, but that's no reason for me to trust you completely, is it?"

"You're right. It isn't."

Valentine threw the flag and Assassin shot, unloading his gun into Valentine's face, neck body, splattering blood and bone everywhere and— the flag fell on Assassin anyways.

A minute later, a man stepped out from under the flag, folding it neatly and placing it inside his long, pink coat.

' _Another one gone.'_

* * *

 **AN: Very disappointed with this chapter TBH, took me a long time to write because of college and everything. Absolutely worst chapter, super terrible, etc etc etc.**

 **For the sake of reader's understanding, I will explain exactly what happened with Caster and the Holy Grail War.**

 **With his perfume and the Spine, Caster plunged the entire world into a giant orgy. Once Valentine killed him and took the Spine, the spell was lifted and everyone affected passed out.**

 **In the original source material, Grenouille (Caster) puts an entire town under the control of his perfume and causes a giant orgy. Once they wake up, the people are too ashamed and unwilling to speak about the terrible thing they've done and since everyone was involved and was guilty, no one wanted to talk about it. Same thing here, Caster forced the entire world to do something so terrible that they'd never, ever want to talk about it, even though they don't remember it well.**

 **Kind of a shitty explanation, but that's how it went in the original, so that's how it'll go here.**


End file.
